


Rising Light

by River_Winters



Series: The Hand of Fate [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Angst and Romance, Child Luke Skywalker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Family Bonding, Fugitives, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Naboo Culture and Customs (Star Wars), Nightmares, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi Raises Luke Skywalker, Original Character(s), Pregnancy, Reconciliation, Rey Kenobi, Rey is Not a Palpatine, Tatooine (Star Wars), Tusken Raiders (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25034398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_Winters/pseuds/River_Winters
Summary: [currently on hold] The Empire has taken hold of the galaxy. Their old way of life is but a memory. With one baby already in their care and another on the way, Sabé and Obi-Wan must navigate a new life on Tatooine all while shouldering the fallout of Order 66. Sobiwan / AU / Rey Kenobi origin story.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Sabé
Series: The Hand of Fate [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080659
Comments: 21
Kudos: 29





	1. Wanted by the Empire

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hand of Fate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24373852) by [River_Winters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_Winters/pseuds/River_Winters). 



> Welcome and thanks for stopping by! This is the sequel to Hand of Fate (find it on my main profile), which covers Sabé and Obi-Wan’s love story from The Phantom Menace to Revenge of the Sith. This story will cover the Tatooine years where Sabé and Obi-Wan have taken Luke to raise as they prepare to have a child of their own - a baby girl they’ll name Rey. This is a AU Rey Kenobi origin story, so strap in for angst, drama, adventure, family feels, and more romance. As always, I appreciate your reviews! And don’t forget to visit the story blog at hof-story dot tumblr dot com - happy reading, and may the Force be with you! FYI, I anticipate that updates will be somewhere between once every two to three weeks.

**19 BBY  
** **Mos Eisley, Tatooine**

All times of day on Tatooine are the same: miserable. Under the dark robe of night, temperatures plunge to a hostile frigid chill, and then during the daytime, the planet roasts beneath the oppression of blazing twin suns.

The cruel heat is already sweltering the city today, even so soon after sunrise. Mos Eisley is not a destination that attracts tourists, nor will it ever be—this place is an impoverished hive of crime. Danger is promised around every dilapidated corner. With very little local government in place and security forces that either can't be bothered or that have been bribed into inaction by different gangs, the place is essentially a free for all. A day doesn't pass without an assortment of violence and lawlessness: robberies, murders, and vandalism to name a few. Despite how harsh and dangerous a planet Tatooine is, it has a sizable population. After all, even degenerates and lowlives need someplace to call home.

The dusty thoroughfares here blow through with gritty loose sand that sticks into every sweaty crevice and finds its way into even the most carefully packed bags and items. The smells enveloping the hot air are pungent: sweat and body odor, charred grilling meats, the sickly sweet smoky perfume of hakka incense, dung from the many animals ridden by travelers.

Even this early in the day, there is quite a surprising crowd out in the just-opened market tents. There's been a small boom in population since the newly-formed Empire was instated a few weeks ago. Either way, from riffraff bristling with weapons to scurrying underlings trying to go about their business in relative peace, all sorts of citizens and travelers swarm the streets today.

Lost among the slowly-milling morning crowd, a woman stands at a small fruit stand that's shaded from the rising suns by a ragged brown tarp. The woman is of nondescript height and build. She isn't very eye catching—and that's the point. Snuggled up onto her chest is an infant who sleeps deeply, securely worn against her front with an elegant bind of faded fabric. A quarterstaff is slung across the woman's back—the only weapon that's visible. She's swathed in ratty clothing complete with a wheat-colored frayed poncho, a dark brown hood loosely drawn over her head, and a beige cowl that obscures her nose and mouth. By all appearances, she's a local. What gives away the fact that she _isn't_ a local is despite her face covering, one can see that her face is very clearly sunburned—her fairer skin is not yet acclimated to the conditions here.

"And how much for the rishi melon?" she asks, eyeing the piled high fruits with the soft blue rind.

The middle-aged male Duros alien manning the tent peers at her, eyeing the sparkling yellow kyber crystal hanging around her neck. "Four for a trugut."

The woman sees exactly what he's staring at and pointedly pulls her robes closer, hiding the jewel from his sight. "Yesterday it was five for a trugut."

The alien's red eyes flick up to meet hers unpleasantly. "And today it's _four_."

The woman deliberates, her sharp brown eyes studying the Duros male carefully as she takes three seconds then decides not to press the issue. "I'll take eight."

She hands over two truguts and takes what's given in exchange, quickly stuffing the blue orbs into the canvas bag that's belted to her middle. The melons are small, each one about the size of an adult's palm. They'll be a meager breakfast that certainly won't take away the constant hungry feeling that's plagued her ever since their arrival to this desolate wasteland. But she's just glad to have food at this point.

With a protective hand over Luke, Sabé continues on her way. Casting watchful glances around, she assesses danger and threats as is instinct by now—but she's even more paranoid than usual. These are dangerous times. She marvels in a very grim way at her life. It feels like she's been drifting in some kind of hot, sandy, desolate limbo for at least half year. But it's only been four weeks since they arrived here to hide from the Empire.

Hardship, frustration, dead ends, and discomfort have defined the time since. Baby formula is hard to find here. DC-10's gears keep getting full of sand and inhibiting the droid from functioning—Sabé finally powered the droid off and put it in their ship as storage for now. The ship, which is waiting at a rented dock, costs them quite a few credits each day to keep there—another stressor. Their search for a permanent home has been fruitless and full of roadblocks. They've already been held up six times in attempted robberies. The clinics and medical facilities, if they can even be called that, are dirty and run poorly. Tensions are high and prospects feel hopeless. The feeling of absolute loss—of relationships, people, and life as they knew it—has left an unshakable heaviness. Morning sickness is plaguing Sabé each day. In fact, right now, her stomach is turning like she's motion sick. Swallowing against the nausea, Sabé ignores it and trudges on. She can feel little grains of sand working their way into the tall boots she wears, and it irritates her further.

Everything in Mos Eisley has the same weathered, worn, dulled look to it: the sandstone buildings are all bleached like bones and the faded vendor tents, once brilliant colors that stood out proudly, are now faded pale replicas of their former glory. It's a bleak, joyless place that slowly burns life away under the twin suns. Sabé feels like the gloom here has already taken hold of her spirit and body, quelling hope and instilling an existential dread that she can't shake.

Sabé scuffs past a jewelry stand, a dried goods shop, a rundown tech repair cart. Smoke from open grills further up the street send a haze of drifting smoke that makes her eyes sting, stomach turn, and lungs quake—Sabé coughs and attempts to draw her robes more closely around Luke momentarily for fear of the smoke harming him.

No one fully trusts each other here, and you can see it in the suspicious glances all the sentients give each other. Sabé is no different, looking at everyone and everything with thinly veiled wariness. In her mind, every passing stranger could be an agent of the Empire poised to attack and then rip Luke away. Every ship that jets by overhead could be an Imperial envoy set to take the three of them by storm. Every lurking figure could be an informant ready to alert the enemy of whereabouts.

The thoughts leave Sabé in a state of agitation. She feels herself growing apprehensive to the point of feeling physically ill.

_No, wait, that's… oh, kriff._

Sabé recognizes the sickening surge that suddenly clenches her stomach. It's a warning, and one that doesn't give her much notice. She barely has the time to clutch Luke's head close, yank her cowl down, and bend over before she vomits onto the street. The unfortunately familiar upheave takes over momentarily, forcing the contents of her stomach out quickly and unpleasantly. Sabé spits when she's done, trying to get the sour bile taste out of her mouth. She curses morning sickness and doesn't even have a chance to contemplate how embarrassing this should feel: As she's dashing the corner of her mouth with a sleeve, there's a brief, sudden sound behind her—the unmistakeable sound of a blaster being cocked.

Instincts kick in: _Danger!_ Everything else fades away, and a lifetime of training informs her response. Sabé whirls in a half second, her quarterstaff practically flying into two strong hands. She's come face to face with a Duros male, a generation younger than the one who sold her the melons. He has a blaster pointed at her and his red eyes are on the kyber crystal at her neck. He looks like the musclehead type—big on brawn, small on brains. He's standing too close to her and foolishly leaving himself vulnerable by doing so. "Hold it right th—" the alien begins, but doesn't finish. Sabé uses the element of surprise and in a single movement that's both lightning fast and not even full strength power, she knocks the blaster out of his grip with one end of the staff. No sooner has the blaster gone flying than Sabé is giving her weapon a powerful whirl to gain momentum. In tandem with the blaster plunking down into sand, the Duros takes a very hard _thwack!_ to the side of the head. He falls backwards, unconscious, and Sabé stands over him, seething and breathless. _Common thieves…_

Jostled by the movement, Luke starts to cry where he's worn against her front and Sabé glances around tersely at the few people who noticed the commotion. With urgency to keep a low profile, she re-slings her weapon, yanks her cowl back up over her face, then slips into the crowd quickly, her heart rate elevated and breath coming quicker than it did before. As she goes, she checks on Luke, bouncing, soothing, and shushing him as best as she can so that people don't stare—all while throwing backward glances nervously. Mercifully, Luke settles.

The refugee and her precious cargo travel down the main street for a block before Sabé cuts into an alleyway, then down another one and around a corner. There, she waits with short, fast breaths and listens to see if she's being followed. After a moment, she's satisfied that no one is on her, but she doesn't continue onward yet. Instead… she sags against the wall she's near and her harsh outward expression breaks. Her shoulders slouch as she loses the ability to stay strong for a moment. All of her pent up despair, loneliness, and fear translate into stinging, shameful tears she clings to baby Luke—for his reassurance or for hers? It's unclear. Most days, she's been able to make it through by disconnecting from all of her thoughts and feelings. There hasn't been time for grieving here, only for surviving to the next day. That's the most exhausting feeling of all.

After a moment, Sabé forcibly calms herself with deep breaths and wipes off her face, clearing her throat and composing herself. She's going to be late if she doesn't hurry up. The galaxy doesn't have time for her feelings.

With a hard sniff and a re-squaring of shoulders, Sabé puts a strong expression back on and slips back into the obscurity of the bustling streets. There she threads her way to Mos Eisley Spaceport, where Obi-Wan is waiting as planned, just underneath the Departures sign. Sabé pauses when she catches sight of him, and she's obscured from his vision by the crowd of moving people between them. He looks pensive. Tense. She's having trouble recognizing him these days, and seeing him just now makes Sabé feel a sense of bitter yearning. Without his Jedi robes and cloak on, he looks like he's in costume or a disguise. Which she supposes he _is_ : the wrapped sandstone leggings, the belted poncho, the loose scarf draped across his shoulders that he'll use as a hood later… they all hide his former identity easily. The only thing from his old life he wears are his Jedi boots. They carry dark burn marks from Mustafar.

Just then Obi-Wan catches sight of her, stands up taller, and acknowledges her with a tight little expression. An attempt at a smile. Sabé hesitates, a flicker of pain passing through her. Then she steels herself, responds in kind, and crosses the distance between them.

It's not just his clothes that are different these days. His face is sunburned just like hers. His hair and beard, always so neatly kept before, have both been completely abandoned and left to be untamed and forlorn. A striking, tragic metaphor for his internal state.

"Any trouble?" he asks quietly as she approaches.

Sabé shifts Luke, eyeing the passersby briefly and shrewdly before meeting his gaze fully. "Nothing we couldn't handle."

Obi-Wan, perceptive to a fault, can obviously see that's there's more to the story. But he doesn't bring it up. He merely greets Luke with a little head touch and bittersweet smile, then meets Sabé's conflicted gaze. A muscle flicks in her cheek. Her face is sad but resolute. Obi-Wan falters and grows fractionally more melancholic. They say nothing, each visibly thinking, but neither speaking their thoughts aloud. The silence becomes burdened and dense. Painful. After a lingering injured look at Obi-Wan, Sabé ducks into the shade and coolness of the spaceport. Inside, more travelers teem, moving between public transportation hangars.

Obi-Wan follows Sabé's lead into the privately owned hangar bays and there, Max Orbo's familiar bright yellow landspeeder awaits. Max is a 'sentient of all talents!' according to himself—and he owns quite a few properties in the general area. He's been showing them potential homes for the past few days. Always at a cost of quite a few credits. But that's how real estate works on Tatooine—bribe the buyer to show you their home. Then hope they actually do.

Max is an animated and portly little creature with a greenish skin that looks shiny and translucent. His voice is boisterous and comical. "Good morning, weary travelers!" he greets, laughing while his guests don't bother to hide their low moods. "Are we ready to go? I have a little place on the outskirts of Bestine to show you today, remote like you want and everything." His ears twitch.

Obi-Wan's reply is distracted and automatic. "We cannot wait to see it for ourselves."

Max claps his meaty hands together enthusiastically and motions for them to get aboard. They do, but not without a brief, hooded glance. Once they're all seated, the speeder exits the hangar on the back side of the building, which opens up into the main streetway. Sunlight spills over them once again. They crawl through some traffic then jet off into the desert once they reach the city limits. The hot wind that hits them as they travel makes it feel like they're slowly being baked alive.

The desert is remarkably plain here. No shade anywhere. No mercy in sight. Only heat, blinding sand, and endless blue skies. In the distance, some rocky ridges march—the Jundland Wastes. A wild, uninhabited place where the Tusken Raiders apparently like to hunt—animals and sentients alike. They're headed toward Bestine now, one of Tatooine's only 'nice' cities. The locals laugh at it, calling it pretentious. Offworlders scoff, labeling Bestine as garbage. Sabé hasn't seen it yet, so she can't say. But everything here she's seen so far is wretched. _No wonder Anakin swore to never return…_

A thought that sends a predictable, painful reminder over her. Glancing at her silent companion briefly, feeling his silence even more than usual, Sabé has to turn her gaze away to keep herself composed.

The trip to Bestine will take about an hour and a half. It will be a hot, silent, uncomfortable journey, just like all the other ones have been. By now, Max doesn't try to start small talk with them—he already knows that they will not participate. Obi-Wan and Sabé are using false names and being overly cautious in terms of speaking to anyone about anything. They agreed on a no small-talk policy with anyone they don't know. And here, they know no one except each other. Obi-Wan is now Ben. Sabé is now Isa. Two names chosen at random that bear no connection to anything in either of their lives.

Despite the wind guard on the speeder, Sabé's hood falls back and she's left to squint as her hair, tightly braided in place along her head, still manages to become frizzed—little hairs break loose to dance around. Luke begins to make little moans that Sabé recognizes by now within a second: he's hungry. Obi-Wan recognizes the sound too. Even as he shifts and pulls out the premixed formula from his pouch—his errand this morning—Sabé digs around in hers and trades him the infant's bottle for half of the rishi melons. He takes them with a weary little smile and offers to feed Luke so Sabé can eat first. She declines, then watches as Obi-Wan eats three of the melons and hands her one back, claiming he's not hungry anymore. He wants her to have it. Sabé is reluctant and doesn't believe him, but takes the fruit back, mindful of their audience, Max Orbo.

Obi-Wan has lost weight since Mustafar. She hasn't mentioned it to him, but she hasn't mentioned much at all to him. They haven't been talking, not past what's necessary.

He's having nightmares every night. He wakes up sweating and gasping, sometimes in tears. Other times in what seems like despairing anger. Obi-Wan hasn't said what the nightmares are about, or even used that word. But Sabé knows.

She's struggling too. There's no real sleep in her life anymore. She and Obi-Wan take their cues from Luke, and the newborn only sleeps a couple hours at a time, even during the night. It's left both adults short on patience and rest, and between a baby rousing out of sleep crying for formula and Obi-Wan's bad dreams, Sabé has come to dread night time. But she dreads the day hours too: long, miserable, hot beyond belief. Her body aches. She worries about her pregnancy. That's why she willingly eats the extra melon that Obi-Wan handed her. For the baby.

As the speeder ride continues, Sabé retreats into her thoughts. She's found herself in a very tragic place, and she doesn't want to think about it, but she can't avoid it either: she's physically right beside Obi-Wan, but in every other way, she's not sure where he is. They share the same bed, but not like before. They've only touched each other in passing—handing Luke to each other, for example. It hurts. It makes Sabé wonder if the Empire took the man she loved from her despite the fact that they escaped physically. For how close they were before, how connected… he almost feels like a stranger to her again. It's difficult to understand. He's not unkind, he doesn't ignore her—he dutifully shows up every day to face his share of the responsibilities—but emotionally he's just… gone.

How is that supposed to make Sabé feel? They have a child on the way, for stars' sake…

_Am I going to be alone in this?_

It's thoughts like these that compel Sabé into dark, despairing spirals. Without being totally aware of her own actions, Sabé's hand skims to faintly touch her stomach, just under Luke's leg. Life. Growing. Both inside her body, and right here resting against her torso, too. She's terrified to lose either one of them. These beacons of light in the darkest of storms. Luke is gurgling, finishing his bottle gladly, peering up at her with curiosity and good eye contact. Sabé smiles at him with every bit of quiet heartbreak she feels as her thoughts temporarily shift. This baby boy is a small ray of sunshine in a very dark, low valley. For herself, she isn't sure she can go on right now. But for him, and for the baby girl Master Yoda said they would have… she'll stay.

She bows her head down over the infant's head, where she inhales and then plants a light, lingering kiss. As always, she cannot feel affection for Luke without being pulled into sadness about Padmé. When she looks at Luke again, he coos happily, smiling at her. Sabé's heart melts and eyes crinkle and she puts a digit into his grabbing fingers for him to hold. Fierce love and loyalty, a deeply abiding commitment to protect him forever burgeons in her chest. Falling in love with this tiny human has been the only part of all this that's felt anywhere close to right.

Abruptly aware of the feeling of eyes on her, Sabé glances over at Obi-Wan. He's watching her with Luke, expression unreadable. For a moment, brown eyes hold blue. Then Obi-Wan looks away, distinctly guilty. Sabé doesn't know what to say. What _can_ she say? Instead, she waits. To see another home that will probably disappoint them both and raise their frustration level even more. The homes for sale on Tatooine all seem to have one running theme: they're all in extreme disrepair. Most aren't even livable.

The search for someplace to call home is beginning to really wear them both down. Sabé hopes today will be the day things change. Her spirit begs for it.

She's not sure how much more of this holding pattern either of them can take.

* * *

**That Night**

The travel lodge. It's a wretched place, predictably. The rooms are all old and absolutely no modern touches exist in the run down facilities. None of the air circulation units work. The inner walls are thin, resulting in constant noise from other lodgers. The lodge itself seems to be a magnet for seedy dealings, and it doesn't feel safe to exit the lodge after sundown alone. The water pressure is low, the bed is hard, there are rats. The fresher is pathetic, but at least the shower still works.

Sabé shuts the water off and steps out of the minuscule shower stall, exhausted from the simple act of washing her hair and body. As she towels off and then slips into a sleeping robe she brought from Naboo, more pain cuts at her heart. The fabric, buttery and soft, embroidered with graceful pale stitchwork on deep blue, is so beautiful. A reminder of home. Of what's lost. This robe and everything that it came from… this type of beauty cannot be found here on Tatooine. Only barrenness.

The house Max showed them today was more or less a godsdamned tent. Obi-Wan made a comment that perhaps Max was stringing them along on purpose. At this point, who knows. Coming here was a mistake, that's the thought Sabé finds herself returning to over and over again.

After Sabé has finished in the fresher, she trudges out into the tiny attached room. The floor, walls, and ceiling are all a ruddy red exposed stone, roughly hewn and cracked in places. A small bed, table, and hanging rack furnish the space. Other than that, it's plain and empty. Luke is asleep beside the bed on the floor, in a makeshift cot Obi-Wan made out of an extra blanket and bits of clothing. The room is lit by a few burning candles, and Obi-Wan stands by the window, peering out of the shutters. He's already showered and is wearing tunic and pants that don't look right on him.

He hears her enter and turns slightly. Their faces and eyes are the same cast of tired, worn, and stressed. A silence spans between them that doesn't feel comfortable. It feels tense. Unsure. Obi-Wan finally breaks it by attempting a positive statement. But he sounds so tired and unconvinced. "Maybe tomorrow we'll have better fortune, hm?"

She could walk to him in about five steps. But he seems five million lightyears away. Replying takes great emotional effort—Sabé resists the urge to be negative. "One can only hope," she says, her composure wavering. There's a flash of memory of their time on this planet before. A smile, marred by the despondence she feels, stretches weakly across her lips. "This isn't the first time we've had to problem solve together on Tatooine, is it?"

Obi-Wan's eyes hold nostalgia and pain. His reply is slow, taking several heavy seconds to come at all. "How different things were then."

Yes. How different things were then. Before the dark times. Before the Empire. Sabé works hard against her ragged, disintegrating emotional state, her eyes threatening to fill with tears. She has so many words, yet none at all. Another gutwrenching silence extends between them that feels heavy as a stone. Sabé exhales shakily. Her broken heart is in her throat. "… _Obi-Wan_." It's just his name, but it's a plea, and her tone begs him. _Come back to me. Where are you? Please, I need you. Neither of us should be alone right now._

Guilt and heaviness rest over him. His eye contact falters. "I know," he murmurs, eyes looking far away and into nothing. "I've been… distant." By all appearances, he looks faintly ill. Lost. It takes him a very long time to come up with a four word justification. "Nothing feels right anymore," he manages after a moment, his voice on the verge of breaking.

 _Nothing. Not even us_. Sabé is sinking even lower. Her chest hurts. Her throat hurts. Her eyes hurt. But she nods. Resigned. Defeated. Her voice is so weak it's barely audible. "I know." The distance between them feels more and more profound. Sabé doesn't know how to reach him across it. His eyes meet hers again, and they're apologetic—wounded. So much is unsaid. It remains unsaid, too, when Sabé makes no further reply. Too tired in every possible way, she gives up. Instead of anger, she feels grief. With low energy, Sabé checks on Luke and then gets into the hard bed, putting a hand down to the cot on the floor where she can feel the rise and fall of the baby's stomach as he sleeps. Verification that he's alive and breathing.

She's so exhausted that she feels dizzy at this point. Silent tears spill out onto her face. She doesn't bother to wipe them away. The question of if she will ever feel close to normal again looms. As of now, she doubts it.

She hears Obi-Wan hesitate for a long moment, then pad around the room and blow the candles out. The bed moves and creaks under his weight as he comes to lay down on the other side of the bed. For a moment, Sabé thinks he's about to say something. But the wounding silence continues.

In the dark, turned away from him, she can't see the way he looks at the back of her head with a pained, devastatingly unsure expression. His hand twitches as he visibly thinks about reaching out to touch her. But then he doesn't. Instead he sets his jaw, breathes out heavily, and resists falling asleep, because in dreams, a hellscape awaits. Inevitably, fatigue will win out, and he will not win his battle.

Sabé and Obi-Wan fall asleep like that. Close, but not close. Together, but not together.

In about two hours, Luke will be waking up, needing another feeding and changing. It all adds to the disorienting feeling of days and nights having little structure or rhythm.

Nothing is the same anymore. Nothing.


	2. West of Anchorhead

The suns are beginning to brighten the dim expanse over Mos Eisley, leaving the planet in blue hour for an all too brief period. It's the only time of day when the temperature is hospitable. It is almost, _almost_ reminiscent of Naboo's summer mornings, if Sabé closes her eyes and imagines. Which she has done a few times, but wouldn't admit to if asked. Not that anyone is asking her anything. Luke doesn't speak yet, obviously. And Obi-Wan? He's all but mute these days.

She trudges after the man in question with her bleary, sore eyes that beg for more sleep and an aching back that protests from another night spent on an uncomfortable bed. Worn at her chest, ready for another day of searching out a place to call home, Luke is gurgling pleasantly, having just had a bottle. All Sabé can think at the moment as the ghost of a smile touches her haggard expression briefly: at least _one_ of the three of them is in a good mood.

They're meeting Max Orbo earlier than they did yesterday to go look at another place. Sabé anticipates today to be another repeat of all the others: riding in a scalding speeder to see properties that even a stray eopie wouldn't take shelter in followed by a disappointed return to this vile city and all its danger to try and find a meal and supplies. Luke will grow irritable in the afternoon, Obi-Wan will say little, Sabé will keep her ever increasing despair inside where it rots at her. Night will fall and leave them feeling drained of all energy and drive. What little sleep they can achieve will be interrupted, and often. This has been the pattern for days and days now: going through the motions and doing what it takes to survive. All else is forgotten. Sabé has completely forgotten what uninterrupted sleep feels like—her body and mind cry out for exactly that. But mercy is not in supply on this barren desert world.

At this point, Sabé is beginning to wear down and accept that they'll most likely have to live in a tent or an all out slum. Homes and houses here are all absolute sleemo piss—only citizens who have been here for generations seem to have any sort of real estate to boast. And even if you _do_ have a house, it can be taken from you, and easily so too…

Casting a discreet gaze left and right a couple times, Sabé remains alert to danger as always. The streets this morning are a little quieter than she's seen them before. A lot of drunks and homeless sentients litter the area, and the ones who are awake stare at the little group boldly, challengingly. In step with Sabé, Obi-Wan is similarly mindful and watchful. Strapped to his side where a lightsaber should be, he now carries a blaster. It's a sight that is hard to bear. He's lost almost everything.

Sabé focuses on deep breaths and staying out of her more despairing feelings. Losing sight of the mission will only compromise, detract, and potentially sabotage any progress they make. The use of the words 'mission,' 'compromise,' and 'sabotage' in her thoughts makes her feel fractionally more bitter and rueful. That's ex-agent language—and she can't think of the Department without feeling betrayed and angry and crushed. She wonders constantly about The Group and if any of them survived. Braxis died in front of her. But as far as Leda Voth, Jego Tavu, Platt Daggoth, and Rett Chronos… she will most likely never know. She thinks of the younglings she helped save from Anakin often, and she thinks of the ones she _couldn't_ save far more often still. She holds Luke all the closer when she remembers small bodies flying out into the void to fall to Coruscant below…

Obi-Wan isn't the only one having nightmares every night.

In the waking hours, Sabé is _still_ spinning and unable to fathom everything that's happened to her. To Obi-Wan. To the Jedi Order. To the Republic. It's all gone and blown away like dust, lost among the scattered sands to never be reclaimed again.

That's the cynic in her, and Sabé forcefully shakes her head, trying to banish her pessimism. But how can she in a time like this?

She sighs heavily against another wave of exhaustion that rolls over her mind and body. Wondering briefly if the constant fatigue could be due to her pregnancy, Sabé feels a familiar twitch of fear about the new life inside of her. She worries day and night that she won't even carry to term—that miscarriage or deformities will result from the rough life here and lack of medical resources. In her arms, a baby who was born to a queen reminds her that women still die in childbirth even in these modern times. And Padmé had the assistance of a clinical team—what will Sabé have?

It's alarming and stressful to dwell on, and there's little Sabé can actually do about it right now either. So she looks at Luke, needing to turn her mind to other things. He's looking up at her and sputters happily when their eyes make contact. Despite it all, the heaviness melts a little and Sabé smiles too, her heart expanding with affection. It's been four weeks with him, and while at first it was quite the job—newborn care isn't too complicated but it is _very_ time intensive and tiring—she's most assuredly fallen in love with this little boy. His big trusting blue eyes are innocent to this galaxy, to his heritage. For now, he remains blissfully unaware of the pain, loss, and devastation he was born in the midst of.

His future and safety are absolutely important to her and to Obi-Wan both. She's clear on that much. As far as who he'll become, or what role he'll play in facing down this new Empire, Sabé can't even think that far into the future. Raising him intentionally is of absolute importance, but what kind of childhood can a youngling have here? Tatooine isn't exactly the galaxy's hub of information, medical resources, or education, nor is it child-friendly. There are a couple of run down 'schools' in Mos Eisley they seem to function more as orphanages. Apparently, many children here are born into slavery or lose their parents to crime and violence.

The more Sabé learns of Tatooine, the more keenly she mourns the loss of Naboo.

" _Look_." Obi-Wan suddenly halts and puts a hand out, stopping her too. Startled by his dire tone, Sabé looks at him sidelong in confusion, then follows his pointed, harrowed gaze.

A Holo display is set onto a small table under a marketplace tent, and a withered old woman with skin like leather squints, watching a news segment. With a shocked feeling plummeting her stomach low, Sabé recognizes the Coruscant Sun broadcast. In flickering blueish tones, a grid of faces is shown. _Wanted Persons_. Below the grid on display, the RDI logo spins in a slow circle, causing a distinct ripple of angry nausea to roll across Sabé. Only, it's no longer RDI.

A voiceover gives instructions: " _Report any sightings or encounters with these members of the now-disbanded traitorous Jedi Order and any of their allies to the Imperial Intelligence. Frequency Alpha Tango 657…_ "

Sabé grits her teeth and shakes her head. _Imperial Intelligence_. "Sickening," she whispers angrily, reviled and afraid of the agency she used to work for. She doesn't have a chance to hunt the faces—the grid fades and the entire display is taken up by the image of a ghastly all-black wearing, helmeted figure. Standing with folded arms and a black cape rippling behind, the imposing figure is flanked by two clone troopers. It's impossible to tell if the figure in black is human or machine. The mask, almost skeletal in design, is instantly intimidating and monstrous. Sabé's feelings of anger give to a prickle of ominous fear. The caption underneath the image of this person reads "Darth Vader - the Emperor's Fist."

Even as Sabé tries to understand what she's seeing, a news reporter comes on the screen and begins to pleasantly elaborate on the Emperor's 'special and personal right-hand agent' who is responsible for hunting down any remaining 'Jedi traitors in our midst to keep the peace of our illustrious new Empire.' The propaganda and corruption makes Sabé absolutely ill. She holds Luke a little closer, understanding that the stakes are even higher than she thought before, and fearing for their safety anew.

Obi-Wan is stiff beside Sabé. His eyes remain locked on the the visual, and while he remains outwardly neutral enough, Sabé recognizes his very present shock and dismay. After a moment, he speaks, but quietly. His voice sounds scratchy, unused. "That's him." Two words that immediately confound Sabé, making her ears ring as the world closes in around her, rendering her small and terrified. _Surely_ he doesn't mean…? His expression grows faintly ill as he stares at the Holo. "That… is Anakin."

 _No. No!_ Sabé can't speak for a long few seconds as she first stares at Obi-Wan, then at the display of Darth Vader. Luke's father. Alive and breathing and tracking down any survivors. "… _How_?" she asks in a tight, dumbfounded whisper.

There's a long, wounded pause. "I can sense it," is all Obi-Wan can whisper as he faintly shakes his head, his eyes unable to tear away from what his old apprentice has become.

The newscast changes. The photo grid of wanted people comes up again, and this time, Sabé's heart seizes and mouth goes dry when her eyes find Obi-Wan's likeness in the center part of the screen. Underneath his name it says _High Treason_. Then as she scans the rest of the grid her heart jolts to see _her_ face a few rows down and over—it's a photo she recognizes from an old ID badge. Underneath her name: _Conspiracy to Commit Treason_.

It's a moment Sabé will never forget, a moment that makes her new reality all the more appalling and final. This broadcast reaches _billions_ galaxy wide. This Darth Vader is on the hunt, and the purpose is clear: erase and wipe out every last Republic loyalist. Skin prickling with adrenaline-laced alarm, Sabé swallows against a sandpapery throat.

Nowhere is safe anymore. Not even here.

Sabé nearly jumps out of her skin and jumps when Obi-Wan's hand suddenly touches her shoulder. He hasn't touched her purposefully like that in weeks.

"We should go," he says in a low voice, his eyes darting all around, then he pulls her closely along with him by the hand. Sabé holds on tightly, too temporarily paralyzed mentally to do anything by comply, follow, and breathe. Newly paranoid to be recognized, she shuffles her cowl up over her mouth, praying that to any curious eyes, she and Obi-Wan look like just another pair of hapless, worn down Mos Eisley dwellers.

* * *

**Later  
** **West of Anchorhead**

It keeps settling in. The enormity of everything. The permanence.

From the spaceport to now, it's a bit of a blur for Sabé. Darth Vader looms in her mind. Her thoughts are frantic, jumbled, and disjointed, jumping from one thing to the next. Overall, she's come to the conclusion that they need to get out of Mos Eisley as _soon_ as possible, and pray that the Empire doesn't attempt to establish a presence here. Surely the locals wouldn't want any oversight—the Hutts and the local councils wouldn't accept the Empire's rule. Right? Sabé has no way of knowing. And that's the most terrifying part. She's has always preferred an offensive to a defensive, but in this case, there is no room to do anything but dodge, hide, run.

Sitting in the back of Max's speeder, the suns beat down onto them harshly, leaving Sabé feeling hot all over as if by fever. There's a cooling pack she's got pressed to Luke to keep him from overheating, and thanks to that pleasant chill underneath her fingers, she imagines water. Closing her eyes against the bright sand whizzing by on both sides of the vehicle, she focuses on the coolness, imagining waterfalls, rivers, lakes, dew, rain. Things that don't even exist here. She summons the memory of being young and diving into sparkling crystal blue waters, then floating encapsulated in undulating light underneath the cool surface.

_Will I ever swim again in my life?_

It's silly. It's small. But the thought of never experiencing that simple joy breaks her heart all over again.

Beside her, Obi-Wan shifts and puts a hand lightly onto her leg, just above her knee. Curious and startled at the touch, Sabé's eyes open to look at him questioningly. Careworn, he gives her a small, sad smile, and then she understands that he's sensing her feelings and mood. She forgets that he can do that sometimes, especially now. He's been so withdrawn to his inner world. It hurts, but she also understands—after all, she's been shut down too. How could they not be? Everything is so tiring, so exhausting, so wretched. Thankful for the small gesture, Sabé returns the sad smile and as an act of truce, of making sure he knows she's still there, she rests her fingers lightly over his.

"All right folks, straight ahead!" Max announces from the front of the speeder, and both Sabé and Obi-Wan turn their attention. And for the first time at initial glance, Sabé's heart doesn't sink when she sees what Max is pointing out. Instead, a breathless, interested feeling of _oh_ comes over her.

The disrepair and damage is woefully and instantly apparent, but still… something about this place immediately plants a seed of hope. Featuring the classic Tatooine architecture of all-sandstone walls and domed roofs, the house is nestled on a sandy ridge, behind which the dark brown Jundland Wastes jaggedly span north to south, providing a sort of back wall to the property. Sabé briefly thinks she spots some cave mouths in the dark, rugged details of the close mountain range. The house itself looks sizable and pleasant in design—even though there is errant junk scattered everywhere and serious damage (huge blasted holes in walls, a caved in roof), the place has a different feel than everything else they've seen. As the speeder slows and comes to a stop just adjacent to a sunken courtyard that's half collapsed and mostly full of sand, Sabé takes in the house. It has a somewhat cobbled-together look to it, as if it's been added onto or rebuilt a few times. There's a story here, to be sure. As they exit the speeder, Sabé realizes there are actually _twin_ courtyards, separated by a small walking path overhead. She glimpses a carved doorway meant for passing between courtyards at their ground level. Letting her gaze sweep around, she sees broken vaporators dotting the nearby landscape. It's a moisture farm. Or rather, _was_ a moisture farm.

"So!" Max claps his waxy green hands together and leads them toward the front door, which hangs off a bolt precariously, obviously kicked or rammed in some time ago. "You're looking at quite the interesting piece'a property." They enter into the main area, which is missing its ceiling. Bright blue sky shows through the gigantic hole, and rubble is scattered across the space. From what Sabé can tell, this is the lounge area—the kitchen is just off of it. Old belongings are scattered everywhere: bent cookware, torn fabric, shattered glass, pieces of technology that are cracked and corroded, old broken furniture. Someone raided this place, clearly. Perhaps several times over. Beside her, Obi-Wan is eyeing the place just as curiously as she is. At Sabé's chest, Luke is quiet and sleepy from the heat.

Max scratches his head and joins them in gawking around. "Right, so first this place was a storage facility, then got built onto and turned into an old speeder repair place, then we had some people come through and turn it into a home and a moisture farm, but that lot was slaughtered by Tusken Raiders, mm, 'bout five years ago I'd guess. S'been empty ever since." That piece of information causes a brief look between Sabé and Obi-Wan. Max sounds unbothered, like he's commenting on the weather. He motions for them to follow, then picks his way down an adjacent hall that is littered with timber and spare parts of some sort. "Anyway! Quite a few acres here for you, lots of privacy. Not much in the way of neighbors 'cept one little commune a kilometer or so that way, over that ridge." He motions south then quickly shows them the home's three bedrooms: two smaller, one larger. Every room has wall damage, leaving gaping holes to the outside world. Max then takes them back to the lounge and kitchen and continues to the other hallway, which is shorter and leads into a large dark room with a roll-up door—maybe this was the old workshop where speeder repair was accomplished. Either way, the space is usable and generous, if not the same as the rest of the place: in need of a lot of work. Max finishes the tour by bringing them back into the lounge area and telling them, "There's a basement too, but last I checked it was half full of sand. Anchorhead's just about a twenty minute speeder ride that way, then Mos Eisley—well, you know that one already since we just came from there." Yes, Sabé did—it was about an hour and a half. "Motesta Oasis's close too, maybe a half hour speeder ride," Max continues, interesting Sabé immensely. "Oh, and Jawas pass through here pretty regular. Those little crinkers always have something interesting to sell, I'll tell ya that much." The little sentient concludes with that and then smiles pleasantly, waiting for their thoughts.

Sabé glances at Obi-Wan, gauging his reaction. He's thoughtful and quiet, but in a way that seems different than before. To look at him in his brownish getup of leggings and a layered tunic—he certainly could play the part of moisture farmer well here. When he replies to Max, he's diplomatic, pleasant, and brief. He sounds more clear and confident, much more like the Obi-Wan Kenobi that Sabé so keenly remembers. "It is a very promising little place indeed. May I ask why has no one purchased this place from you yet?"

Max grins, but it's not exactly pleasant. "Too afraid of the Sandheads."

Obi-Wan acknowledges that with a shrewd nod. "A fair concern, I'm sure."

"You bet your ass, flyboy. This is Tatooine! Odds aren't good for a long life here, forget comfortable or _safe!_ " Chuckling, Max starts to waddle out. "I'll give you two a sec to talk it over, Ben."

The use of Obi-Wan's cover name is always strange for Sabé to hear. As Max exits, Obi-Wan wanders over to the lounge area, by all appearances evaluating the structure and considering all the work that would be required to set the damage right. Sabé takes a moment to look at the kitchen. The stove top and refrigeration units aren't even there—probably stolen or scavenged. The tile flooring is cracked in many places. But the window over the non-working sink boasts a view of the courtyards in front of the house, then the great sandy plains beyond. In the distance, Sabé can only just make out a small, dark mass that must be Anchorhead. She imagines, briefly, a little blonde haired boy and a little girl playing just beyond the courtyards. Sabé wonders about their daughter: will she have dark hair like her mother? Auburn hair like her father? It's a pleasant thought. A relaxing thought. For a moment, Sabé imagines a happy life here, somehow, despite all the odds.

A soft sound and then a sixth sense feeling alert her that Obi-Wan has approached and is standing right behind her. For a moment from another lifetime, she imagines or perhaps wishes he's about to circle his arm around her and rest his cheek to hers, nuzzle his face into hers. But he only stands closely, and doesn't touch her. "What do you think?" Obi-Wan asks after a moment.

Sighing out her disappointment in the lack of affection, she lets go of that and focuses on more pressing matters. "Well…" Sabé contemplates the enormous task of fixing this place. "It's needs a lot of work… which means a lot of credits…"

"Bail's generosity will help with that."

He's right. Bail gave them enough to live on for a very long time. Sabé turns around and regards him thoughtfully for a moment. They don't have much choice and they both know it, but… "What about the Sand People?"

Obi-Wan is wry and reluctant, seeming to have already thought about that. "I'll take my odds with them over the alternative."

There's a short, somber silence. He's referring to Anakin _—Vader_. "True." Sabé contemplates the place again, chewing the inside of her lip slowly, trying to weigh everything rationally before making decisions. "Do you _really_ think he'll never return here?" She asks cautiously. "How sure are you?"

His eyes slink around the room, giving away his low state of mind. The easy, gentle, wizened air of command he always carried before is currently nowhere to be found. "Right now, I'm not sure of anything," he admits, not bothering to hide his distress over the matter. "But Anakin told me—only a handful of years ago—that he would never return here. I believed him then. I still do." Sabé's unsure silence prompts him to continue. "We knew how dangerous it was here. We'll have to take our chances—with a plan of action in place for any attacks too, of course."

Sabé nods, deep in thought. "This _is_ the first place we've looked at that seems even remotely promising…" she concedes. "The rock face makes us a little more defensible. And I think there might be caves… which could be a good makeshift hangar bay for the ship." She pauses and darkens. "Or a hiding place." Danger and risk is a guarantee here on this desolate world, and there's no escaping that fact. She truly likes this house—it has good bones, and the way it _could_ be, in her mind, is quite beautiful. "But who would fix all the disrepair? I certainly don't know how." She's willing to live humbly, in poverty even. But repairing walls and fixing ceilings is quite beyond her.

Obi-Wan glances around appraisingly. "I think I could manage to make things much more livable here within about a week's time," he says. "At least get the walls back up and patch the roof." At the softly surprised, curious look Sabé is giving him, the smallest ghost of a smile flits across his face. "Remind me to tell you about the time Qui-Gon and I helped build homes for a month on Aygeran II."

The mention of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's younger years is unexpected and stilling. "I certainly will." Remembering a time when she knew very little of Obi-Wan, Sabé recalls feeling this very same sense of curiosity and intrigue about him. A small, growing smile is on her face as she studies him with a fond feeling of nostalgia—that's quickly followed by a more distressing feeling of uncertainty. She only wants to be close to him again. Especially through this.

Obi-Wan finds a bittersweet smile for the baby, stroking the back of his index finger against the boy's cheek, dipping his head to look into the youngling's eyes. "And what does little Luke think about growing up in this place, hmm?" he asks. The baby grunts softly—he's trying to go to sleep. Obi-Wan straightens and regards Sabé with familiar crystalline eyes that inspire great welling feelings in her. "…You did always say you wanted to be a moisture farmer."

So he noticed the vaporators, too. Heartwarmed so suddenly and deeply that she could cry, Sabé feels her eyes wetting. The nod to their old life and banter, the joke that grew between them over the years—it feels like a reminder that his love for her isn't gone. It feels like the extension of hope, however wavering. "I did, didn't I." Her eyes sting with emotion and she smiles and nods, despite the way her face works. "Well. I think this will do, then." She takes in a very deep breath, relieved and overwhelmed and afraid all at once. "Home," she says softly as her eyes sweep over the place once again.

Her valiant struggle to keep composure has touched Obi-Wan deeply, inspiring the familiar glint of guilt in his eyes. "It won't always be like this," he manages to say to her in a suddenly weak, ravaged voice. "It can't be." The brief show of vulnerability and feeling that lay behind the numb mask he wears so often compels Sabé greatly.

She nods, unable to keep her true emotions off of her face: despair, loneliness, fear, sadness, exhaustion. "I know." It's all she can to to not break down. But tears still spill out on her cheek. Ashamed of herself and the lack of control over her feelings, Sabé fights the tears bitterly. Obi-Wan reacts with a pained expression, his eyes watching one of the rolling droplets. Wordless, he reaches for her and wipes the tears away with his thumb, then softly draws her and Luke both into his arm for a very long awaited hug. Squeezing her eyes shut and holding him back as tightly as she can without pressing on the baby, Sabé fights all out weeping. She had almost forgotten how it felt to simply have his arms around her. She never wants to again.

The embrace is rain on parched earth, it's rising light after an endless dark night. It's a promise that somehow, despite all of the odds against them and burdens they beat both together and separately… they'll find their way back to each other. Here, in the place their love first began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Next chapter we will get into Obi-Wan's head a bit more. Thanks for reading + reviewing! :)


	3. The Great Divide

**Three Days Later**

Obi-Wan still vividly remembers first stepping foot out into the bleak world of Tatooine thirteen years ago. The startlingly dry air, the blinding sand stretching for miles, the relentless burning heat from twin suns overhead… a combination that left the young Kenobi shading his eyes and feeling sorry for whatever pathetic lurches were cursed to live in such a place.

Now, he has _become_ one of those pathetic lurches. What an irony.

Sweating profusely as is his new normal, Obi-Wan hauls the last piece of timber across the lounge area to the wall framework he's building—for right now, the nearly complete structure lays on the floor. After tossing the load down, Obi-Wan takes a moment to rest and to breathe, wiping perspiration off his brow with the back of a wrist before he pushes away the damp strands of hair that fall across an eye.

Having discarded his tunic long ago to feel even fractionally cooler, he picks up said tunic and dabs at his sweaty chest and neck then contemplates opening a ration pack to quiet the hungry clawing feeling in his stomach. His muscles ache, his hands are blistered in places from all the manual labor, he feels in every last way spent… yet he has no plans of stopping anytime soon. Keeping busy has been the only way he can hold his deeper thoughts at arm's length.

Not for the first time, the quietness of the house bothers him. Then, faintly, he hears the telltale whirring of DC-10 who is down in the basement, scooping sand out for the second day in a row. It's a nice reminder that he's not completely alone. Squinting upward to the gaping hole in the ceiling above where brilliant light blue sky is spread like a tapestry, Obi-Wan tries to gauge what time of day it is. Late afternoon by the looks of it. Another day is nearing its conclusion. With shoulders that slump, he casts a weary gaze over his surroundings and lets his grungy tunic fall to the ground.

He's accomplished much more than he thought he would the past three days. But he feels Sabé's absence so very keenly.

After buying the home, the two fugitives mutually agreed that the house wasn't yet safe enough for a newborn—at the very least, running water and walls were a requirement. With no supplies or foodstuffs, no bed, no working vaporators, no way of holding ground against potential attacks… it would be foolhardy to bring an infant into that. So, they returned to Mos Eisley together—then Sabé stayed, and Obi-Wan took their ship along with DC-10 and everything they spirited away during their exodus from Naboo. Sabé said she'd gather whatever supplies she could during the time apart. And that was that.

Without a comlink to contact her and check in, it leaves an uneasy feeling in Obi-Wan's stomach. When they first fled the Empire, they of course destroyed everything that had any possibility of tracing or tracking. Now that they're on Tatooine, communication methods are hard to come by—and HoloNet access can only be found in the cities. Locals tend to use binary radios for communicating—devices which Obi-Wan has not been able to find yet. He worries about Sabé and Luke constantly, even though he knows that the ex-agent is more capable than most of protecting herself and the baby too.

Still. Their separation feels very wrong.

But, so does everything else.

There are no words for Obi-Wan's internal state. It all feels too horrific to be true—as if any day now, he'll wake up and realize this was all just an enormous and terrible nightmare. The truest nightmare of all however, is that this is indeed all real. That fact confounds, dizzies, and defeats him. One moment he's still in shock and trying to accept the blow fate has dealt. Then the next, he's spiraling into something like panic for the enormous responsibilities he has and the daunting task of keeping all of them safe, fed, and sheltered. Just a month ago, it was him and Sabé in a quiet, secret relationship that was lost in the grander scheme of the galaxy. Now it's them and Luke, plus an unborn daughter on the way—left to fend for themselves and make a life in this cruel and merciless place. All while the new Empire actively hunts the star systems for them. It's all too much for Obi-Wan's mind to comprehend sometimes, the massive shift that's taken place. The irrevocable change.

The galaxy that he once understood and moved through with confidence has been shattered apart into something foreign and obscenely dangerous. Everything from before has been erased and stolen away, leaving a staggered feeling of incompatibility with life behind. A part of Obi-Wan died that day when all the other Jedi were betrayed and murdered, and he mourns ceaselessly for all the lives lost. All the trust broken. All the atrocity and betrayal. Almost everyone he grew up with, cared about, and fought beside is dead. It's left the former General feeling bereft of some essential part of himself—wondering who he is now that everything has been snatched out from under.

Nothing feels safe anymore. When he sleeps there are terrible visions, yes—but being awake to this reality is even more of a nightmare than those dreams could ever be.

Blinking a few times against the blankness that's taken over his vision, he looks over the waiting wooden framework. But Obi-Wan remains unmoving, lulled into tired stillness. The quiet is so loud that it buzzes in his ears.

The image of Anakin in that black suit and helmet stays with him day and night, putting lead into the blood of his veins. Questions swarm his head, guilt burns in his heart, despair drags his spirit down. Is Tatooine truly a safe hiding place from this enemy, Darth Vader? Or has Obi-Wan put them all directly into the crosshairs?

The silence persists, mocking the emotionally frayed man's grief.

Wetting cracked lips, Obi-Wan again looks upward to the sky with an aching chest and stinging eyes. There _have_ to be answers, there has to be some hand of fate at play here—he's desperate to believe it, even though reality indicates the opposite.

"…You said he was the Chosen One," he whispers aloud, his voice hoarse and dry, barely used. He waits, straining to hear or feel a reply. But the Force and Qui-Gon are elusive.

Obi-Wan has only twice felt Qui-Gon's voice. Once on Naboo, and once here the first night at the homestead. It was quiet, just a maddening whisper of a whisper. And the Force…? It's faded away, like water on a dry lake bed. All that's left behind is cracked, parched earth that begs for water which will not come.

Silence remains. Obi-Wan bows his head as disappointment and sadness coarse through him anew. Everything leaves him feeling so empty and lost, so full of dread.

He exhales heavily, and his breath is the only sound filling the gaping quiet. Tears, a familiar occurrence, make his vision swim—in those tears is the sum of exhaustion, hopelessness, and deep perpetual emotional pain that he's crushed beneath. The question _'how?'_ haunts him endlessly. How did the Jedi Order not foresee this? Looking back, the signs seem so clear, the truth so obvious.

Jedi are not meant to cling onto things. Not to people, nor to constructs, nor to feelings, nor to comforts. Only to the Force. But now, in his most perilous hour, the Force has seemingly abandoned him. What does Obi-Wan have left to stand on?

Day and night he wrestles with how to reconcile reality. The collapse of the Republic has been a soul crushing lesson in his own shortcomings. Obi-Wan blames himself for thinking that he could train Anakin, he blames himself for making the emotionally-driven decision after Qui-Gon's death. He tries repeatedly to see what could have been done differently, obsessing over it in some moments. None of these thoughts are the Jedi way. But Obi-Wan is human first, and this is showing him unrelentingly how much so.

Alone. Alone is the biggest feeling Obi-Wan feels. And after that, numb.

Sabé has been physically by his side through it all, yes. But shamefully, Obi-Wan hasn't been able to emerge out of his despair and grief to be present with her. He's retreated into himself. It's a survival tactic—a trauma response. But knowing that doesn't make any of it any less excruciating and heavy; knowing that doesn't take away the growing fear that Sabé will leave him over this. The way she looks at him some days is a slow knife to the heart. Her eyes silently call out an unspoken need for hope and healing and something worth believing in. Obi-Wan is incapable of giving those things to her—no matter how much he might want to—because he doesn't have them himself.

It makes him feel like a coward and a traitor to watch the woman he loves look at him yearningly, wanting comfort he doesn't know how to give. Making it far worse: she's pregnant with their child, for stars' sake… another thought that is difficult to fathom. Another source of great anxiety. This planet, much less this new galaxy, is no place for a child, much less two. _Will I fail my daughter like I failed Anakin? Will I fail Luke? And Sabé too? I don't know how to be a father. The closest I've come is with Anakin, and look how that ended…_

Among many other terrible things, Obi-Wan dreams at night of Sabé turning her back on him. Of Luke being hurt or killed—and of the daughter who doesn't even have a name yet being torn away. It's too much for one man to bear. He thinks that in normal circumstances, he ought to be overjoyed about becoming a father—Jedi or not. But his truest feeling right now is dread and fear—an abiding sensation of despair at what's happening.

His thoughts leave him dizzy. And the word failure comes to mind often.

Shaking his head and clearing his throat, the forlorn Jedi has to turn his focus so that he doesn't spiral too deeply. Even as Obi-Wan is composing himself and bending down to pick up his hammer, he freezes in place as like a bright comet streaking across a dark sky, he feels a clear, ringing bell sensation in the Force. It's like a switch has been flipped. Straightening like a whip, eyes gaining clarity, his heart begins to beat quickly in his chest as adrenaline mounts. He understands instantly: _Danger_. Sabé is in danger.

Already snatching his tunic up and grabbing the quarterstaff and blaster he's taken to using in place of his lightsaber, Obi-Wan races for the starship that waits just beyond the sunken courtyards.

* * *

**A Bit Earlier  
** **Mos Eisley**

A hulking import vessel passes overhead, its buzzing, chugging motor reverberating through Sabé's body and the buildings nearby as she trudges along a dusty market district street. Luke is bundled at her chest as usual, worn hands free. But she still has her arms around him protectively as she listens to him moan unhappily, once. He's a good baby—he doesn't fuss much, he's in a pleasant mood most of the time while awake. But the heat definitely bothers him. Even with the cooling pack Sabé has wedged between her body and his, he's as aggravated by the heat as she is.

"Not much longer of this, I promise," she murmurs to him. Even as she says it out loud, she wonders if it's true.

Mindfully weaving her way through a crowd of the usual Mos Eisley fare, Sabé feels a trickle of sweat run down her back and wriggles in discomfort, shifting her empty pack across sore shoulders as she does so. She thought maybe she would get used to the heat after a few weeks of being here—but she only feels hotter and more hateful of the weather every day. It's inescapable and smothering, not to mention the opposite of what an already irritable, highly uncomfortable pregnant woman would ever want to experience. She's still facing daily morning sickness, but there's more new surprises all the time: her breasts have become incredibly sore and she feels sluggish and bloated. Indigestion and nausea are constant companions now, like it or not. All of that plus the anxiety over keeping Luke alive and well while trying to care for her own body leaves physical effects—a constantly tight chest, a hyper-vigilant feeling tensing every muscle.

This morning after diapering Luke, Sabé found herself breaking down and uncontrollably weeping, unable to see any end to all this suffering and fear and uncertainty. She got lost in imagining Luke starving to death because of her inability to provide for him—in imagining Obi-Wan attacked and killed at the homestead—in imagining miscarrying. Paranoia about those things plus delerious fear of being identified and captured rules her days and nights. Staying in the room they've rented feels safer than going out into the city every day for supplies and food… but there's no safety in starvation.

The work of getting supplies is tedious, but thankfully has been mostly successful. So far, she's accumulated enough ration packs as well as canned and dry goods to last them for about a month. Those things are stored in the rented room. Today and yesterday, she's been trying to find more formula for Luke—and worryingly, she's found none so far. They're almost completely out, too—all that's left is maybe two bottles worth. _I'll find some. I have to._ Sabé is trying not to panic about it. One more thing going wrong could make her snap in two.

While she didn't think it was possible to feel lower or worse than before, every day has proved her wrong.

There was another reason for her tears this morning. _Him._

The hours are endless. Lonely. Worrisome. Obi-Wan's absence has been harder than Sabé initially thought it would be, and her heart breaks a little more every long day as the memory of the way they were continues to be only a memory. What happened to the man she fell in love with? What happened to that undeniable pull and spark between them? It's confusing and harrowing to watch him slip away like he has. To go cold in places he once kept warm.

_Have I lost you?_

A question that beats along to the limping rhythm of her heart during all these torturous hours apart.

Sabé is emotionally and mentally ragged. She's been pushed to her limits… then pushed further still. With no end in sight, is it any wonder she feels so defeated?

_Tink tink. Tink tink tink._

Sabé halfway glances over at the market tent she's passing where windchimes for sale hang and ring lightly in the arid breeze. She spots herself in one of the mirrored pieces of reflective glass and freezes in place, surprised. Seeing herself for the first time in weeks (there's no mirror in the travel lodge) is startling. Most of her face is covered, and her hair too of course. But there's still no missing her eyes. A stark terror stares back at Sabé from her own gaze. _I look like a hopeless wretch_. And that's what she feels like too.

"Yuwuna chuba na!" comes a sudden loud and demanding exclamation, causing Sabé's heart to jump and adrenaline to spike as she all but springs backwards. The tent vendor, a disgruntled three-eyed orange Gran, blinks in triplicate as Sabé gapes, suddenly panting softly in fright. While she doesn't speak the language, she understands the basic sentiment: buy something or move along.

With a quickly beating heart and a dry mouth, she moves along.

Every sudden movement and unexpected sound sets her doubly on edge without fail—every passerby could be a servant of the Empire. Every black cloak she glimpses, her heart flips in an irrational fear as an ominous name settles in her mind: Darth Vader.

This planet is whittling the sharp, confident agent she used to be away into nothing, leaving behind a scared and jumpy woman who doesn't know who she is anymore. She tries not to think about it, because it only makes her more insecure. Sabé moves through the crowded street quickly, even more motivated to find Luke his formula and then go hide in the safety of the rented room for the rest of this blasted day.

The final place she knows to check is a dry goods tent where she found a small jar of formula two days ago. When she gets there and asks if they have any more yet, the answer is no.

Panic sets in. Let down to the point of tears, Sabé tries to come up with a plan of action, even as her mind swirls with certain doom. _What do you feed a baby who can't have table food yet if you can't find formula?_ Sabé has no idea. None. Blindly taking a few steps away from the tent, she could collapse under the weight of the alarms going off in her mind. She doesn't know where else to look or who to ask. Her chest is tightening, breathing is becoming difficult, and the world doesn't feel steady.

And then, an unrecognized, pleasantly raspy female voice suddenly speaks. "'Scuse me, you're looking for infant formula?"

Sabé, sure she looks like an alarmed animal, whirls while clutching Luke to herself.

It's a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties. She has wild ringlets that stand around her head in a soft halo, and youthful, pretty features set in brown skin. She's dressed in coveralls and a long sleeved tunic—by all appearances a farmer maybe. Beside her stands another woman with fairer olive toned skin and soft, sweet features. She's in a faded red dress and a yellow headscarf worn like a hood, revealing a hint of wavy brunette hair. At her side, holding her hand, a boy of perhaps four or five years—he's tiny with huge and curious eyes that openly ponder Sabé. He doesn't look related to either woman.

Sabé regards the scrappy group of three warily, unsure what they could possibly want. The woman with curly short hair speaks again. "We overheard," she explains, then offers an affable introduction. "I'm San. This is my wife Reina. And our son, Chira." Sabé is silent and shifty, ready to bolt. San throws a thumb over her shoulder briefly. "There's a place nearby, Pogo's Junkshop. He always has some."

Caught off guard—people being _friendly_ in Mos Eisley…? Sabé is deeply suspicious. "…A junk shop has infant formula?" she asks in doubtful fluster, holding Luke fractionally closer.

San smiles understandingly, ignoring Sabé's unnerved behavior—a kindness rests in the way her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Tatooine is a strange place."

The joking tone and easygoing energy, while right up Sabé's alley in her old life—now strikes her as incredibly suspect. Her wife Reina is gentle and careful, clearly understanding Sabé's hesitation. "We can show you where, if you'd like." She has a beautiful, lilting accent, and speaks in a much shyer, softspoken way. She motions north. "It's only a couple of streets over."

Sabé hesitates, her eyes going between Reina and San uncertainly. Fear says don't trust anyone, and to get away quickly from any potential threat whatsoever."I can go there myself," she says, not thinking clearly.

San's expression shifts into a doubtful brief cringe. "Well it's not marked—and we're actually headed there ourselves, so…"

Stony, Sabé deliberates briefly and urgently. Luke needs formula. Without question, Sabé already knows she needs to follow this lead. Mentally checklisting the weapons on her body and the quickest ways to get to them if the need arises, Sabé draws in a deep, slow breath through her nose, steeling herself. An old saying comes to mind: those who beg, cannot choose. Hating her powerlessness, Sabé grudgingly agrees. "All right," she agrees nervously, hiding it for the most part. "Lead the way." And they do.

At high alert, Sabé keeps stride with them and waits for them to do something telling, like lead her down a secluded alleyway. But they stick to the main streets. She sizes them up from the corner of her eye some more. The women are similar ages, similar heights—San seems a little more assertive and confident, Reina reserved. Their son, who must be adopted—seems well behaved and cooperative. Could they really be just a Mos Eisley family?

As the little group rounds a corner onto another bustling street that looks like all the others, Chira suddenly peers up at Sabé impishly, his cute button nose and huge eyes causing him to almost look made up, or like a doll. He assesses her for two seconds. Then makes a knowing face. "You're not from around here, are you?" he asks in a sweet, high-pitched child's voice.

He's an extremely adorable boy. As such, Sabé resists being charmed by him. "What makes you say that?" she asks neutrally, thankful that her cowl covers her mouth, which is smiling ever so slightly.

"Oh, I can just tell," the boy says cheerfully, pleased with himself.

" _Chira—_ " Reina warns in the way only a mother can. Stern, but gentle. Exasperated, but loving.

Sabé, still dubious, manages etiquette despite it all. "It's no bother."

" _Kids_ , right?" San asks with a chuckle, shaking her head at Chira, then looking at Luke for a moment and smiling. "How old is your son?"

The words 'your son' cause an immediate spike of emotion—protectiveness being the largest one. Sabé considers not answering, because she and Obi-Wan agreed no small talk with strangers. But this might be an exception to the rule. Sabé decides that she will very carefully proceed—'play the game,' so to speak. "Just about a month now," she concedes stiffly, then silently debates herself on how rudely she's coming across. She's no fool, and understands that a certain degree of friendliness, put-on or not, will be to her advantage. Anyway, it can't hurt to tell them her cover name. Luke's name, unknown to anyone but those who were there when he was born, is not a secret. "I'm Isa. And this is Luke."

Reina smiles warmly, and everything about the smile and the way it reaches her eyes seems very genuine. "Nice to meet you, Isa and Luke."

San's smile echoes the sentiment. "He's beautiful," San observes, glimpsing Luke's eyes as he peers back at her. "Such blue eyes. Rare on Tatooine."

Sabé agrees—Luke _is_ a beautiful baby. The blue eyes comment however, immediately makes her protective hackles rise again. Could there be some sort of blue-eyed child-stealing ring here? Is Chira a red herring to try to trick her into believing these women's story? Sabé hears herself wonder that in her mind and wonders if she's being ridiculous or shrewd at this point. She hesitates, then decides to ignore the comment in favor of finding out a bit about her impromptu tour guides. "Mm, yes. So how long have you two lived here?" she asks, careful to put just the right amount of neutral pleasantry into her tone.

San sighs as her eyes scan over the Mos Eisley scenery with a grudging fondness. "All my life."

"And me, about ten years," Reina says, causing Sabé immediate curiosity on how the two women met. "It's a hard place to adjust to, but you'll settle eventually," Reina offers graciously, seeming to understand without words a bit about Sabé's situation.

"Finding food for your son will definitely help, I think," San says, and by all accounts she sounds empathetic. Just a mother looking out for another mother. Sabé feels uncertainty begin to trickle in—maybe these really _are_ just two wives and their son. San indicates a small, low sand hut with no signage whatsoever that they've arrived to. It's sandwiched between two bigger buildings—a blink and miss it situation, just like they indicated.

San leads the way in readily, and Sabé hesitates as Reina and Chira follow. This could be some sort of trap. But it could also be completely innocent. Out of desperation for sustenance for the baby at her chest, Sabé steels herself and with maximum caution, she follows in, her muscles tense and breath short. As the harsh sunlight is replaced by a sweep of dim interior… nothing happens—Reina and San are a bit ahead of her, completely disinterested in knocking Sabé over the head or stealing her baby boy.

Still on edge, Sabé's eyes take a moment to adjust to the darker interior as she pulls her dusty cowl down a bit so that her mouth is visible. It's cooler in here, and quiet—save for buzzing incandescent lights placed on the walls here and there. A dotting of small skylights let in shafts of light that show dust floating in the air. The smell of engine grease fills the space.

A hearty human man with a rather outlandish flight hat on turns from the droid he's tinkering with and pulls his magnifying goggles off. He looks like he's in his fifties—his face carries many scars and deep lines. He recognizes San and Reina immediately and a huge grin springs onto his grizzled face. "Ah-ha, ah-ho! Asana family!" he greets in an extremely enthusiastic boom, standing to a tall height as he dusts his hands off. "After more eopie feed? I just got a shipment in this morning!"

San grins widely and lopes over to shake Pogo's waiting hand enthusiastically. "Pogo, how are you ole boy?" she asks, then smacks him in a friendly, joshing way on the side of the arm. "We are—but our friend Isa here's looking for formula first and foremost." San indicates Sabé, and Pogo follows her gaze.

"Ah!" he exclaims, taking in Sabé and her precious cargo. "Well, a friend of yours is a friend of mine," he says, then tips his hat toward Sabé. "Pogarius Denkroff," he announces with a flourish. "Or 'Pogo,' to keep things simple." He winks, then contemplates his store. It is, in a word, an absolute junk heap. Which Sabé supposes is quite fitting, but… it's not organized in the least. How does he know where or what anything is? Unlabelled barrels, storage crates, containers, and jars liter the shelves and stack high, along with an assortment of metal pieces and parts, appliances, broken droids, paper goods, some canned food items, even some second-hand clothing is hanging off in one corner—essentially, every kind of odd and end is crammed into the small space. Pogo drifts over to a far wall and contemplates a stack of storage bins, tapping a finger on his chin. "Human infant formula, yes, yes… I have a whole bin here, if the price is right." He pulls a sizable bin out, ignoring the small avalanche of objects that fall to the floor when he does it. He unscrews the lid and comes to show it to Sabé, who can't believe her eyes. Even before she inspects it too closely, she recognizes the unmistakable smell of it and her eyes widen. It's legitimate! Her spirits soar in overwhelming relief—she could cry, that's how intense it is. "The whole thing's yours for three peggats," Pogo says—a hefty price. "It'll last you for a couple months, at least."

Overjoyed and frantic to buy it before anything can happen to take the opportunity away, Sabé is already grabbing for credits with shaking hands. "I'll take it."

"Excellent, Milady Isa!" Pogo chuckles, accepting the credits she hands over. "Now, allow me to put this into a sack for you." He then hollers startlingly loud: " _Kora_!" A couple of seconds later, a cranky woman appears from a back room. She appears to be about the same age as Pogo. Long brown hair hangs around her face, and thick, straight bands are cropped close just above her eyebrows. She wears colorful garments sewn with beadwork in intricate patterns. "Bring me a sack, woman!" Pogo commands the second he sees her.

Kora gives him a withering look. "A sack? Why, what's happened to yours?" she retorts in cool sarcasm, giving him a pointed look right at the crotch before she disappears back where she came from—presumably to get the sack.

San is chuckling, hiding it behind a hand, while Reina shakes her head in good nature and looks downward.

"True love," Pogo declares with a self-satisfied smile, then begins to discuss eopie feed with San.

Tatooine gets more and more interesting all the time. Maybe there _are_ somewhat normal folks here. As Sabé waits, she watches Chira poking around the shop, closely watched by Reina, who comes to stand beside Sabé briefly. Reina smiles softly, her kind brown eyes holding empathy. "And just so you know, eopie milk can be used safely in place of formula if you ever find yourself in a pinch," she murmurs. "Just don't use it for more than a week or two straight if it can be helped."

Sabé stares at Reina, a mixture of emotions flooding her. Five minutes ago, she was spiraling into despair and facing a terrible reality of Luke being out of food. Now, Luke will be fed for a couple of months. All because of the kindness of strangers. Struck by gratitude, Sabé wets her lips, ready to offer her sincere, humbled thanks. She doesn't get the chance: Reina darts forward to shoo her son away from a precarious pile of things stacked too high.

At that moment, Kora reappears with a cloth sack that has strong handles, and with no smiles or friendliness whatsoever, she dumps the formula into the sack and ties it shut, then brings it over to Sabé. The second she spots Luke, her expression changes. "Oh, what a sweet sweet boy," she coos in an admiring tone. "And blue eyes, too. A blessed child." She hands the sack over and even as it settles into Sabé's waiting hands, Kora turns and levels Pogo with a resentful stare. "Unlike the idiot son my useless husband cursed me with."

Pogo just chuckles lightheartedly as Kora rolls her eyes. It's an odd dynamic. Sabé isn't sure if she ought to laugh or feel concerned.

"Do you need help taking that back to wherever you're going?" San asks, changing Sabé's focus. "Looks heavy."

Shaking her head immediately—she couldn't possibly accept more generosity from these two—Sabé declines meekly. "No, no, thank you—you've already done enough for us," she insists, heat rising into her cheeks as it settles with her again: these two strangers don't know how much they've helped her. It's enough to make her throat sore with the precursor to tearfulness. "I… really can't thank you enough."

Just then, a rapid beeping sounds and at Pogo's work bench, a Holo pops up showing a graph of Mos Eisley—over it, a large, triangle shape. "Stars alive, what's that?" Pogo mutters, then snaps his goggles back on—giving himself bulbous, huge, swiveling eyes. He peers at the readout—and even as he does, Sabé's breath has caught. It looks like a Republic Star Destroyer—but the Republic doesn't exist anymore, which means…

"Is that—?" Reina breathes in dawning horror, even as a suddenly dead-serious San instinctively moves in to be closer to her wife.

"The Empire," Kora mutters in absolute distaste. It's like a gong rings, darkening the entire world and bringing a reign of immediate terror alive. Sabé's blood freezes, her mouth goes dry, the blood drains from her veins and her pulse lurches into a rapid staccato. _They're here. They've found us. Oh gods._ "They've been saying something like this would happen," Kora is saying, but it sounds muffled and far away.

Pogo's demeanor has changed into dire, haggard apprehension. "Shop's closed," he says, fixing his customers with a warning look. "I'd get wherever you're going, and fast."

* * *

Sabé doesn't even remember leaving the junk shop or if she said anything to anyone. All she knows is that she needs to run. Hide. Get out.

Above the city like a beast waiting to strike, the familiar shape of a Star Destroyer has positioned itself in a way that blots out both suns, leaving the city ominously dark. Like insects swarming out, several smaller transports are already descending toward the city, no doubt carrying troopers. More and more panic builds in Sabé's fluttering chest.

It's total chaos. People are running and screaming, others are suddenly brawling with each other in the streets. As Sabé runs awkwardly clutching the formula to herself, she passes a group of thugs robbing a panicked tent vendor even as a fire breaks out on the other side of the street.

"I'll show those Empire scum rooters a Tatooine welcome all right!" snarls a Bosk, hefting a huge heavy artillery rifle and aiming for the sky to take a shot. His aim is good. A transport takes his fire, shuddering and nosediving down toward the city below—smoke streaks out behind in a trail, then the ground shakes like an earthquake on impact.

Sabé begins to all out sprint losing her bearings completely as chaos continues to unfold. Blaster fire begins to exchange, looting and fires are erupting all around—and when she glimpses a squadron of unmistakable black and white clone troopers ahead on the wide road, Sabé's heart stops and she skids to a halt in the gritty sand, breathing hard and fast as her body screams wordlessly at her to escape. The troopers open fire and Sabé bolts down an alleyway, barely hanging onto the formula. Jostled and alarmed, Luke is now squalling.

Like a rat in a maze, Sabé mindlessly flees down a corridor of alleyways as overhead, the familiar sound of all terrain transports hum, convincing her that it's all over. Shaking and weakened from the adrenaline she can't get a handle on, Sabé runs into a dead end and comes up short, then hides behind a cooling tower to catch her breath and try to calm herself down. Shaking like a leaf in a storm, the wall behind her back allows her to sag against it as the formula drops into the sand at her feet. She shushes Luke desperately and bounces him uselessly, begging him to please be quiet baby, please be quiet. Any second, someone will discover her. Did someone follow from the main street? Will a squadron of troopers round the bend at any second? _What should I do? What should I do?!_

She can't move—petrified, she remains frozen there, looking skyward as she hears the sounds of battle and riots too close for comfort. It's like the old Sabé is gone—she doesn't recognize herself as this pathetic, sniveling wreck of a woman. She _knows_ she shouldn't stay put, she needs to take the offensive rather than the defensive—she should steal a speeder, steal a ship, flee. But mind-numbing terror is keeping her glued in place, and for the second time that day, she feels a panic attack threatening to take her.

A sudden movement down the alley perhaps twenty feet away causes her to sharply inhale and go ramrod straight as another jolt of fear strikes her like lightning. Her blaster is already in her hand and she covers Luke's mouth with her other hand, muffling his cries and praying no one heard him over the sounds of explosions and blasterfire. It's two clone troopers, and they have their weapons drawn as if stalking prey. Eyes going wide and every reasonable, clear thought flying out of her mind, hysterical dismay closes in. Sabé shrinks closer to the wall, eyes flying around to try and find a way to escape.

 _They're going to find me. They'll shoot me on the spot or take me in once they realize who I am._ Sabé swallows, seconds left to make a choice. The only way to save Luke, to give him a fighting chance—is to try and sacrifice herself—distract the clones away from him, rush them and try to shoot one or both. She doesn't know. She just has to act fast.

Her hands are shaking so hard, her ears are ringing, she can't hear anything but her own racing heart and shallow, hard breaths. She reaches to untie the baby boy from the wrap he's worn in. Petrified tears stream down her face as a silent apology is offered to the memory of his true mother, Padmé. And then suddenly, just as her fingers touch the fabric of the first knot—the troopers fire on her. She cries out and whirls, ducking and wrapping herself around the baby to shield him—then when the shots stop, she peers over her shoulder and realizes it wasn't the troopers who shot. In fact, they're both dead.

Sabé stands up in a woozy, confused, shocked state to try and figure out who shot the troopers—she can't see anyone behind them. There's a sudden blur of motion beside her—someone jumping off the roof to land nearby?—and her alarm bells scream _act now or die_. Blindly, her blaster flies up and she fires several clumsy shots at the obscure attacker, hearing someone give a totally out of mind scream. It's her own voice.

Incomprehensibly fast, the attacker dodges deftly and her blaster inexplicably pulls to the side as by an invisible force—the blaster bolts goes flying off harmlessly into the side of the building. Even her mind struggles to comprehend and she tries to shoot again, Sabé is snatched up by the wrists and she fights hard, seeing nothing and hearing nothing as she fights for her life and her blaster drops away uselessly. Her senses aren't working right—her vision is full of gray spots and it's like she doesn't understand anything in front of herself, but she can hear something is being yelled. She can hear herself screaming for dear life. And then suddenly, she understands his shouts: "Sabé, it's _me_!" he all but roats, and Sabé finally stops, eyes gone big as planets when she realizes.

"O-Obi-Wan!?" panting like a wild animal, she can't believe her eyes and is immediately appalled anew as she realizes: "I almost killed you!"

He has other things on his mind, evaluating her and Luke quickly and closely—his panic and upset matches hers, nearly. "Are you all right?" he demands breathlessly. "Is Luke all right?" Nearby, explosions and blaster fire are growing more and more intense.

Unable to find words, Sabé nods, or tries to. Obi-Wan grips her briefly behind the head, searching her eyes for confirmation that she's there. It's all Sabé can do to not break down completely. He's grim and urgent. "Come, we must move quickly—the ship is just outside of the city. Hurry!"

Sabé nods dumbly, then thankfully remembers the formula, despite her temporary insanity and quickly grabs it up with weak, trembling limbs. Obi-Wan takes it from her immediately and tucks it under his arm, squats and grabs her blaster, gives it back to her. Then hand in hand, they race for the safety of the ship Obi-Wan left just outside of the city, praying that they aren't killed in the process or discovered by the Empire's forces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Much appreciation for your patience in my slower speed updating! Work, stress, life, constant interruptions and more forced me to take my time writing this. But since there's so much emotional ground being covered, that always takes me longer anyway - I have to simmer in the characters' feelings and emotions for awhile to really write it well. Which takes time :) so thanks again, and I look forward to your reviews! I think the next chapter will be done sooner, finger's crossed!
> 
> Oh, also! See the blog for photos of all the faceclaims for characters in this chapter.


	4. Coming Home

The twin suns of Tatooine wane low over the horizon, leaving the endless desert landscape painted shades of golden warmth. A Corellian freighter streaks across sandy plains at top speed—in the small cockpit, two fugitives pray they're not being pursued.

Still out of breath from both running and terror alike, Sabé cranes her neck back briefly to look out of the small area of cockpit glass where there's rear visibility. Mos Eisley is shrinking rapidly behind them, smoke billowing up toward the Star Destroyer that lurks above.

Luke's piercing sobs demand her attention and Sabé tears her gaze away to soothe the upset baby as best she can—it's difficult because she's so wound up herself. Beside her, dogged, Obi-Wan grips the control console steering with white-knuckled hands. The ship is climbing now, gaining velocity and elevation to put even more distance between them and the enemy.

As Sabé bounces the baby and works to calm herself down too, her ragged mind reels. Their escape felt all too close—they almost ran straight into clone trooper squads three times and narrowly dodged crossfire in at least two major fire fights. 'Traumatic' describes the experience only halfway.

Even though her instincts warn her not to assume _anything_ , her overwhelmed and exhausted nerves are too much: she slumps in the co-pilot seat, pleading silently that it's over for now. She keeps rocking Luke in her shaky arms while gently repeating _shh, shh_ over and over against the crown of his head. It's all she can do to not faint, that's how high the rush of adrenaline left her. Now that the sensation is receding, she's left feeling sapped of all strength completely.

"The Empire," she murmurs woodenly, seeing nothing in front of herself. " _Here_." Her mind cannot comprehend it—it's one of their worst nightmares. Her ears strain to hear telltale signs of pursuit, but it's quiet save for the undulating racket of the freighter's old engines.

"Not for long if the locals have anything to do with it," Obi-Wan replies, his voice made tight by a quiet grim quality. He sounds just as unsure as she feels. "If we're in any luck, they'll see this place as too much trouble for the bother."

That's what she would like to think, too. That's why what happened today was so shocking. _Why_ are _they here?_ She supposes she won't get an answer immediately. If ever. Sabé finally fully looks at Obi-Wan for the first time since seeing him again, taking in the details she missed in the flurry of their escape: his sunburn settling into a patchy tan, his beard that's even more wild and bushy than ever, his worn out civilian clothing that's secondhand. It makes him appear worlds apart from the neat and tidy Jedi Master he was a month ago. No wonder she didn't recognize him when he first appeared back there…

"Yes, well," she says, eyes drifting to gaze gauntly through the cockpit transparisteel as she automatically keeps jostling Luke. He's quieting. Her eyes register very little. "I don't have much faith in our luck these days."

Obi-Wan remains troubled, thinking for a measure before he speaks again. "They weren't after us specifically, that has to count for something."

He's right—or she thinks and hopes he is, anyway. "Yes, I suppose it does," she replies, not succeeding in hiding how distracted she is. Outside, the miles fly by quickly. Mos Eisley isn't visible anymore when Sabé chances another quick backward glance. Luke's screams have settled into a softer little whimpering cry, and Sabé kisses his forehead, trying to comfort and be comforted, too. His smell, unknown to her about a month ago, is familiar and soothing now. Irreplaceable. He quiets further, which helps calm Sabé too. She closes her eyes and holds him close, focusing in on the rise and fall of his back, the whispering tickle of his sparse hairs against her cheek and nose. She thinks of his mother with a broken heart. She thinks of his father with deep, abiding fear. Was Vader on that Star Destroyer? Or off in some other corner of the galaxy, terrorizing those loyal to the Republic, those hiding any surviving Jedi? Not for the first time, her mind tries to understand: _how did this all happen?_

Obi-Wan speaks again, gentler this time. "Are you all right?"

A simple, tenderhearted question that can almost bring her to tears. What answer can she give besides the truth? Sabé opens her eyes, and she's tired. Run over. Without optimism. Too many things loom over, threatening to crush the life out of her. Unable to make her unseeing eyes move, only able to feel the tears that sting them, she shakes her head ever so slightly as grief threatens to choke her voice away completely. "No." It's one word, and it's all she can manage at the moment. Nothing is all right. Even if she's physically unharmed, she's left to be even more afraid than before.

His silence is bleak. Then his voice, burdened. "I understand." His voice draws her gaze, finally, and their eyes meet. So many unspoken things hang in the balance. And for now, those things stay unspoken. Sabé cannot come up with anything. Despite all the novels of feelings, fears, worries, and burdens which she cannot keep silently carrying alone—speaking them aloud would require too much of her. The divide between them is so vast, too intimidating to even think about bridging. There is safety in silence. Obi-Wan's eyes falter away and he attempts to bolster himself and be outwardly strong. "Well," he says, schooling his tone into an out-on-place casual tone. "In any case, I'm eager to see what you think of everything I've managed to get done with the house."

The house. Sabé has forgotten completely about it for a few moments. The mention of it brings a thousand dread-filled curiosities to mind. She imagines any myriad of issues and attacks—more endless problems and dangers to leave them wretched in this hostile place. "Have you had any trouble?" She asks apprehensively—she fears the answer. She cannot take more bad news, but prepares for it regardless.

Of all things, Obi-Wan gives her a quick, bittersweet little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, _DC-10_ at times has too many opinions for my taste, but no—the only souls I've seen are a few wild animals and some Jawas." Her surprise must show. "Everything has been fine."

She turns that statement over in her mind a few times, offhandedly petting Luke's head. He's quiet now. _Everything has been fine_. "…How did you know to come for us?" It's a soft, almost hopeful question.

Obi-Wan is hard to read. He seems thoughtful, all while touched by the hand of grief. "I suppose the Force isn't as far away as I thought it was," he replies after a moment's deliberation. Sabé's heart lurches in a small inkling of hope: He hasn't shared much with her during this time, but he did tell her, a few days after first coming to Tatooine, of how the Force felt distant—as if it were gone along with everything else. This has to be good news, doesn't it? Sabé doesn't get to reflect on it any longer. Obi-Wan nods ahead of them, simultaneously cutting the engines and beginning a descent. "Look. Home."

She follows his gaze—below them and ahead, the homestead is small and sturdy against the vast outline of the rocky Jundland Wastes. The fading light of day casts the small sandstone structure and the slopes around it into brilliant gold. Here it is: their safe haven from prying eyes.

Or, as he just called it:

… _Home_.

Even as Obi-Wan brings them in for a close approach, Sabé can in quick observation see trash and junk that's been piled up at the side of the home, and one wall that doesn't yet match the rest of the others… evidence of the work Obi-Wan has been doing. _Home._ She wonders how livable it is inside. Not that it matters. Nothing could convince her to go back to any city on this planet right now. _Nothing_. Whatever half-ready home waits, she will make work.

The ship settles down onto kicked up sand and with a charged sigh, Obi-Wan cuts the engines off and sits back in the seat as if weary, then stands before the pause can grow too long. He offers Sabé a hand up. His face is tense and mildly apprehensive. But he's trying for truce of a smile. And taking his hand, Sabé manages a similar thin-lipped press. He doesn't let go, and they hold hands as they exit the ship and approach the door of the house. _Our home_.

The first thing Sabé registers is that the front door has been repaired—not repainted yet, but it isn't hanging off its bolts anymore uselessly. Obi-Wan opens it and indicates 'after you.' With an apprehensive inhale, Sabé enters, prepared to see the mess she remembers.

It's cooler inside in the onset of dusk, but not as dim she might have imagined… and she quickly realizes why: The ceiling above the lounge area is still a huge gaping hole, letting in bountiful amounts of light. Additionally, the far wall is still missing too (but the framework is laying off to the side). However what really draws Sabé's attention first is the kitchen. The space, which had been devoid of anything that would make it a kitchen besides the cabinets prior, now boasts a medium sized refrigeration unit, a sink, and a stove/oven combo unit too. None of the appliances look new at all, but the mere fact that Obi-Wan somehow managed such a task already is astounding. Exciting, even. The kitchen and lounge both have been cleaned, swept, and tidied up. It leaves behind a home that almost isn't recognizable from what Max Orbo showed them just a few days ago.

As the door closes behind their entrance, a gleaming droid struts into view and stops short as if surprised. "Ah, hello!" DC-10 greets, even as Sabé's face takes on a quizzical, amused frown and she has to quell a very unexpected urge to laugh. "Welcome home, Commander!"

"DC-10…" Sabé replies slowly in confused, suspicious humor, wondering simultaneously if she's being pranked or if something's wrong: "Why are you wearing _pants_?"

The droid's head element tilts down briefly, as if they have forgotten that they're wearing a pair of what looks like Obi-Wan's pants. " _Ah_ ," Obi-Wan says awkwardly, drawing Sabé's attention. "To keep sand out of gears until I can come up with a better solution," he explains, and there's the smallest flash of his signature pleased but self-conscious smile hiding behind his beard. A protocol droid in _pants_ —Sabé suddenly has a confounded grin on her face at the absurdity of it. This seems to inspire a good-humored moment for Obi-Wan."And really, you have to admit, the droid wears them better than I do." Sabé hears herself laughing briefly… something she hasn't done in what feels like years. It leaves her feeling lighter and strange, but in a good way.

Drifting into the lounge more centrally to gawk around at what's been done, Sabé listens with raised optimism as Obi-Wan explains what's been accomplished: "Well, aside from DC-10's foray into fashion, we've cleaned everything, taken out all of the debris, and gotten most of the sand out of the basement—electric is working and I was able to procure a refrigeration unit and stove among a few other things—I've fixed all the walls except that one. The roof… obviously still requires attention."

Amazed, Sabé can't stop looking around. What was a dump just a few days ago is on its way to total transformation. It's too good to be true, and as such, her spirits are soaring. "Obi-Wan—it doesn't even look like the same _place,_ " she marvels genuinely, already imagining glimpses of their future here. "It's like a real home." Sheer gratitude that could make her cry is flooding her emotions. "You've worked _so hard_ ," she says, full of gratitude and thankfulness for him. Then her thoughts are whisked away: She spies a small stack of familiar looking objects that sit on the ledge just above the fireplace and she makes a beeline, eyes wide in disbelief. But it's exactly what she thought. "You found _books_?!" she asks, already picking the three of them up in a way that can be described as reverent. Paper tomes, a rarity in the modern galaxy, are probably quite normal here. Dog-eared and worn, they all look ancient. Sabé quickly rifles through the three titles eagerly: first is _Land Speeder Repair & Maintenance — _and she nods faintly. It'sa very practical selection that will come in handy. The next one is quite intriguing. A masked creature wielding an intimidating staff-like weapon is pictured beneath the bolded title: _People of the Sand: Stories of the Tusken Raiders._ Sabé is fascinated by that one. Maybe they'll learn something useful from it. She sorts to the last volume, and stops in her tracks when the last title stares up at her: _Human Pregnancy, A Complete Guide_.

Stilled, Sabé's eyes lift slowly to find Obi-Wan's waiting, nervously hopeful gaze. "The Jawas," he explains as her throat constricts. "Resourceful little creatures, with quite the assortment of things for sale in their transport. They called it the… the Sandcrawler, I think. In any case, thanks to DC-10's translation programming, I was able to ask after very specific items. Including that book."

The gesture leaves her at the emotional brim. Here it is: evidence that he's still thinking of her and of her pregnancy too despite the fact that things have been so stagnant and cold between them. It inspires a trove of hopeful, touched, overwhelming feelings that are too large to process all at once. Clutching the book, which has an illustration of a pregnant woman's silhouette on it, Sabé tries not to, but does anyway: she breaks into tears and attempts to say something about "so wonderful," but her words are garbled and muffled by the hand she's put against her mouth in an attempt to stay composed.

Obi-Wan has already taken the books from her and is pulling Sabé to him closely, gently. She buries her face in the rough fabric of his tunic for a brief moment as Luke makes an uncertain sound between them. Equal parts embarrassed at herself and very thankful for a snatched moment to be close to Obi-Wan again, Sabé clings on, her focus wrapped up in the feel of how he holds her. His smell, his familiar stance and warmth—she breathes these things in like it's the last time. She thinks of his steadfast dedication to making this house a home despite all of his daunting pain and personal struggle, his consideration to find them a book about pregnancy even with everything else going on… it whispers to Sabé that all is not lost. She draws back with a still, tear streaked face. She wants to look Obi-Wan in the eyes and see him. The him he's been trying to hide. The him she would do anything for. The him that saw through to the her hiding behind the robes of a Queen... all those years ago. In this very land. Blue eyes meet brown, and Obi-Wan's expression is tender. His thumb grazes her cheek, wiping a tear away. And Sabé's heart lifts slowly, bravely.

"Why don't you go get cleaned up?" Obi-Wan suggests softly. "I'll see to Luke." Sabé's eyes question him briefly and he smiles again: "I fixed the shower."

Sabé's mouth drops again. " _You fixed the shower_?" she repeats in a whisper, realizing that this means he must have the water working too. _What_ can't _this man do?_ she wonders, even as she's already daydreaming about washing off with rising excitement and anticipation.

Obi-Wan reaches for Luke, and Sabé helps shift the baby out of the fabric he was wrapped to her body with. Luke keens as Obi-Wan takes him, an adorable little sound only a baby can make—and Obi-Wan smiles briefly and genuinely, however small, at the boy as he settles him in his arms. A moment that warms Sabé and fills her heart. "Go see," he encourages Sabé, who is reluctant to leave them—especially Luke, who has been glued to her at most hours of the days now. But she complies, wondering what she'll find in the parts of the house she hasn't seen since being here last.

Cautious and curious, Sabé goes down a nearly unrecognizable hallway that feels incredibly spacious now that it's clean and trash-free—she first glimpses into what will be the children's bedrooms, finding repaired walls, swept floors, and a few stacks of supplies and tools. It's surreal to see these empty spaces that will soon be full of life and living. After lingering in each room for a handful of heartbeats, Sabé goes to the master suite which is also repaired and cleaned. The suns are beginning to descend to the horizon, and she contemplates them for a brief moment through the east-facing window—it's the only window in the house that wasn't broken and boarded up. Everything outside in the barren land is washed in warmth as the suns sink. The higher sun is bright and pale juxtaposed against the redder lower one. It's beautiful, even in its desolation.

Sabé's eyes drop to the horizon and she watches and waits a minute or two for any signs of ships, enemies, really any movement of any kind. In the distance across the flat plains, the tiny details of Anchorhead are inscrutable, but Sabé can see that no Imperial Star Destroyer hovers over it.

Once she's momentarily persuaded that attacks aren't imminent, Sabé continues her exploration. The containers of things brought from Naboo are stacked up high in a far corner of the room, with the container full of clothes off to the side and open. The fresher, which had been in complete disrepair before, is still an under-construction mess, but the shower does indeed run, and there are some mismatched towels folded and stacked beside the shower stall… maybe more Jawa purchases? It doesn't matter. Obi-Wan has done incredible, thoughtful work here so far that deserves recognition and gratitude. Sabé is glad to be here with him for the rest of the work of fixing, repairing, and settling in. It only feels right to be at his side and contribute equally to the labor.

First things first however: she strips off and proceeds to take the most amazing shower of her life—or it feels that way anyway. The water is hot and the pressure good—nothing like the infuriating dribble that she endured for the past month plus at the lodge in Mos Eisley. There's only a small bar of soap in the shower for cleaning, but it's enough to wash her body and hair and rejuvenate her senses.

It's dark out when she finishes. After getting out and drying off, she puts on the first sleeping gown she finds in the container of clothes, skips underwear when she can't find any, then towels her hair and brushes it neatly after locating a comb in another container of supplies. Refreshed and feeling much more human, Sabé lets her long damp hair fall freely down her back to air dry. Barefoot, she pads back to the main area, noticing how the stone of the floor is somehow cool to the touch of her feet despite how hot the outside world is during the day. A small delight. Once she reenters the main area, she finds a single light source illuminating the darkened space. Crackling and snapping energetically, a small fire rests in the hearth of the fireplace. The outside world, visible through the gaping wall and the ceiling hole, is cast dark velvet blue as twilight fades.

Obi-Wan, still dusty and dirty, is sitting in the middle of bare floor cross-legged with a few portions of untouched rations in front of him on a towel, as well as a single jug of water—nearby, he's made a little padded area with blankets for Luke, who looks like he's sleeping. DC-10 (still wearing those blasted pants) is positioned at the wall hole facing outward. From the stance, Sabé recognizes that the droid is in security mode… all functions diverted to scanning for intruders and motion in the near vicinity. Personality mode is always switched off for security, meaning DC-10 is not hearing or engaging in anything but potential security threats. So to all effect, it's just Sabé and Obi-Wan now. She shouldn't feel nervous about that, be automatically does. Will it be more of the same in terms of painful silences, the yearning to reach out and connect but not being able to?

Obi-Wan gestures to the waiting meal apologetically when Sabé's pause at the end of the hall becomes hovering. "It's not quite fine dining, but it _is_ food."

Sabé carefully tests a teasing response: "It's a good thing I didn't dress for fine dining then, isn't it?"

She sees receptiveness on his features. The same cautious, timid approach she's taking. "Well... you'll certainly be in good company with the likes of me." Obi-Wan indicates his own disheveled appearance, and Sabé chuckles ever so brief and low in her throat. A small, cautious and hopeful gaze is shared by both of them. Then Sabé joins.

She sits down opposite of him and mimics his stance, then picks up one of the rations—a dry protein bar of some sort. "Anchorhead?" she asks, taking a big bite. It's quite bland and chalky. But she's hungry, and this will do. Just the same though, she'll eat it fast to get it over with.

"Yes, I think we'll fare well getting more supplies from there tomorrow to replace the ones we lost," Obi-Wan says, joining her in biting into his portion too. "They have a small market, a few stores..."

Nodding automatically, Sabé cranes her neck slightly to peer over at Luke, who is splayed out on his back with arms wide at his side in his favorite position. "Is Luke all right?" she asks, realizing that being separated from the baby boy made her feel uneasy.

"Fed, diapered, and sleeping warmly," Obi-Wan reports. "No signs of the Empire descending upon us, either."

Sabé darkens at the mention of _that_ before taking another brooding bite. "What are they even doing here?" She sounds sullen and acidic, resentful. And, well, she is.

Obi-Wan chews silently for a moment. "Attempting to establish some sort of presence, I suppose," he says, then takes a swig of water from the jug and offers it to her. "Or perhaps we're not the only fools who had the idea to hide here." Sabé sips at the water. It's cold and tastes pure, clean. "I truly didn't think the Empire would even bother with this planet, if I'm being honest," Obi-Wan muses, preoccupied.

Sabé shares the sentiment and sets the jug down. She pops the rest of the bar in her mouth and there's silence as both think deeply. "How worried should we be out here?" She asks after she's swallowed her last bite. It's obviously much safer than a city, but is it _truly_ a safe hiding place from the reach of the Empire? Of Darth Vader?

He mulls her question over thoroughly, heavily. "Enough to stay vigilant," he finally says. In other words, _I don't know._ His expression is grim. They both know there is more than one issue to worry about daily here.

Sabé nods agreement and puts it out of her mind for the time being. "Well in any case..." she studies the inside of the house again with a slow sweep of the eyes. "I still can't believe how much work you've done here."

There's a brief, wry chuckle. "Please, Milady. Wait to be impressed until _after_ I fix that enormous hole in your ceiling."

There it is again: a glimpse at the way he was Before.

Sabé shakes her head no, the smallest crooked smile lifting the corners of her mouth up as she lets her eyes take in his familiar, beloved face. "Makes me remember Naboo autumn," she murmurs, eyes raising to take in the darkening deep blue sky above. Nostalgia blooms. "Sleeping under the stars…" she trails off, yearning for that simpler time briefly. She can smell the burnt timber wafting through the earthy Naboo air for just a microsecond... can see fruit orchards ripe for harvest and taste the seasonal spiced hot teas... all set against the backdrop of crisp, cool air and foggy mornings. The memories are good. And so is this moment too. Above her head now, small pinpricks of light are only just now becoming visible, and will only grow brighter as night continues to deepen. Sabé hasn't actually seen stars at all since coming to Tatooine—they've hidden inside after dark here. Until now. Seeing the sky at night again is truly a feeling of liberation after what she's endured. A small, important wonder.

Obi-Wan watches her quietly, an open and unguarded expression on his face while she takes in the sky in a small moment of contentment. When he softly speaks, it draws a startled, touched look from her: "This house certainly feels better with you in it."

Another gently given act of truce. Of reconciliation. Ice in her chest continues to thaw. Light continues to grow, sending shadows of doubt and fear further away. And she gives him her own act off truce: "And I'm glad to be home." It's the godsdamn truth through and through. She studies him back now just like he's studying her. The snapping fire creates a dancing pattern of warm orange light across one side of his face—and he looks beautiful. Reachable. And she so very much wants to reach him again. So she tries. "How are you, Obi-Wan?" she chances ever so cautiously. "Really?"

Obi-Wan's eyes quickly jump to hers, as if he's startled or taken aback. It's the conversation they've both been avoiding with supreme dedication. It cannot be avoided any longer. It will suffocate them if they don't bring to light all that's kept in the darkness of silence. Obi-Wan draws in a steadying breath, taking time to think about his response. When he speaks, he sounds hollow and painfully unsure. "I don't know." He clearly hates admitting that too. His eyes fall away. There's an exhausted defeat to him. And it's heartbreaking. "Nothing quite makes sense anymore."

"I know what you mean," she says, so pained on both their behalf.

Her words only seem to sadden him further and he takes a long time to speak again. When he does, his voice is choked. "I'm... just so sorry for leaving you alone in this."

Protective hackles raise as she begins to realize the extent of the guilt he's wracking himself with. "Obi-Wan—you don't need to apologize," she insists with worry and compassion.

He gets up from his cross-legged seat in a fluid, practiced motion and retreats a few steps off, dragging a hand down his mustache and beard in an expression of strained disquiet. "I've left you alone with so much, Sabé," he says after a moment, looking at her as if begging for her help in making sense of it all. "How can a man do that to the woman he's supposed to love?"

The way he sounds and the hurt on his face lurch her heart. And Sabé gets up too. Her instinct is to go to him and reassure him with physical contact. But once she's on her feet, the distance between them feels too vast—and she's somewhat afraid of being rejected. So she tries a different method. "You lost your entire world," she says, pain clenching at her deeply. "And so did I. It's... it's a wonder either of us can even get out of bed in the mornings."

He considers her words, eyes downcast. He's physically turned himself away from her so that she can only just see his profile. "I've failed," he assesses with dull acceptance. "Beyond all measure and comprehension."

Sabé guessed that he might feel this way, and it grieves her very deeply to hear her suspicions are true. "Obi-Wan," she says, the way she says his name carrying all the affection and sadness she feels. Gently, she approaches him and lays a hand onto the back of his shoulder. "Anakin chose his path."

A slight turn of the head, but his eyes remain on the floor. "And I sent him down it."

"Knowingly?" she points out carefully. "Willingly?"

For a long moment, he contemplates. Then his eyes slide to look at a different part of the floor. "Still." His expression pinches anew and he seems to be pushing away emotion. His eyes, however, cannot conceal the tears that are building. "I question everything I ever thought I believed in before, Sabé."

She knew that... of course she knew it. But hearing it is out loud is different than silently wondering. Crushed anew as the weight of everything settles again, she shakes her head blankly while reckless grief charges through her. "I do too," she admits. Her thoughts consume her. "How foolish were we?" she whispers. "Underestimating Palpatine. Believing justice could prevail. Believing that the light conquers the darkness." It hurts to think of how blind they all were. Her eyes are stinging with tears, too. Perhaps it's melodramatic, but it feels as though she has learned a very sobering truth through all this: "This galaxy is not made for the righteous, Obi-Wan. It's made for the ruthless."

He exhales heavy and weary. He finally peers at her sidelong. For answers, for assurance, for hope. "So where does that leave us?"

She can't bite back the truth she feels inside: "On a godsforsaken rock with two children to raise." She grits her teeth briefly as the fears swarm her mind again. "Raise to do _what_?" Her chest clenches and throat grows tight, leaving her voice a sudden choked plea. "Is there anything left for us? For them?" _How can there be?_

He looks just as gutted as her. For a moment, he casts around for a reply. His slowness in response adds to the helpless and forlorn sensation. "I don't know..." comes Obi-Wan's honest reply. "I… I have to try to believe in some sort of… of hope. Despite everything."

Sabé presses her mouth into a line against a feeling of despair. "…I don't know if I can," she admits, wishing to feel any way but the way she does. But there's no escaping it, and her eyes sting: "I'm so afraid. Every minute of every day now."

Obi-Wan's eyes, eyes she has known for years, falter on hers. "So am I."

It shouldn't shock her, but it does. In her mind, the Jedi were untouchable from some things—they were sacred beings with a direct line into the will of the universe, into serenity, into omniscience. Jedi remained removed from trivial matters like doubt and fear and selfishness. But how could Obi-Wan _not_ be every bit as terrified as she is every second of every day? Of course he is. Of _course_ he is. Filled with both compassion for his internal state and the regret that she hasn't asked him sooner, she lets her hand, still resting on his shoulder, begin to move in a slow, soothing rub. "…Is it Anakin that you dream of at night?" She poses the question as gently as possible.

Gaze becoming uncomfortable, Obi-Wan swallows and looks away again. "Yes," he confirms in a mere whisper. "And you. And Luke. And…"

He trails off into silence and Sabé steps into his space from his side. She gently touches his face and his gaze guiltily comes back to her. For a long deliberating moment, silence hangs. "I don't need you to be an impervious fortress, Obi-Wan," Sabé whispers finally. "A heavy stone is more easily carried between two." It's an old saying from Naboo. The implication, she hopes, is clear: _Let me help bear the load. Please._

Obi-Wan, tired but receptive, leans ever so slightly into the touch of her hand. His eyes, catching light from the adjacent fireplace, study hers in growing honesty. "I've missed you in a way I never have before," he says after a long, weighted pause. A small, bewildered frown crosses his face, as if he doesn't know how else to say what he feels. "Perhaps you know what I mean."

Sabé nods, her eyes aching with the burden of tears. "Yes, I know exactly."

Without another word, Obi-Wan bows his forehead into her shoulder, letting her wrap arms around his shoulders and head then lean her cheek into his hair. He begins to shake silently as sobs wrack his body, and his arms tighten on her like she is keeping him from blowing away. She cries too.

There they stay for a long time.

* * *

Sabé opens her eyes to a velvet night sky dotted by the sparkle of millions of stars. Everything around her is illuminated brightly by crisp silver moonlight.

For a moment, she's disconcerted before memory comes back: After shouldering the storm of sorrow together, they wiped their tears away and made a half-hearted joke or two, then Obi-Wan went to go shower off and change while Sabé wandered from one end of the house to the other, familiarizing herself anew, evaluating the work ahead, and thinking of which practical matters to address and in what order. She then made sure Luke was warm and bundled up and created a padded area with a few blankets (more purchases from the Jawas) to sleep on a few feet away from Luke. That's where she lays now, only one detail has changed: she's in Obi-Wan's embrace, feeling his soft warm breaths against her shoulder and neck.

When he reemerged from showering, he immediately came to her side and reached for her silently. They fell asleep holding each other with no words. Just the long-lost comfort of each other's closeness. The fire has now died out, but it's so much brighter than it was earlier: the moon and stars are dazzling and immaculate, drawing her gaze upward again. The chill in the air is just a few degrees below comfortable, causing her to nestle more closely into Obi-Wan, who stirs and shifts, opening eyes slowly and dreamily.

"Is it Luke?" he asks faintly, voice gone hoarse from sleep.

Already looking at the infant and seeing the peaceful rise and fall of his little chest, Sabé shakes her head and whispers her reply, because it seems wrong to speak at full volume during such a serene moment. "No, he's still sleeping…" she turns her head to look at Obi-Wan again. "He's been sleeping longer and longer the past few nights."

Obi-Wan nods and for a moment, their gazes hold. In this bright darkness haloed by moonlight, the mood feels enchanted. Touched by some sort of magic. Maybe that is the spark of hope growing. Sabé puts her head closely into Obi-Wan's chest and looks skyward again, letting the awe rain over her. "I don't know if I've ever seen so many stars in the sky," she murmurs after a moment, savoring how the tip of her nose feels cold and how fresh the air feels in her lungs and on her skin.

He sounds similarly struck by the sight. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Sabé feels another smile on her face, and it leaves a peaceful feeling through her weary limbs. "Very." Obi-Wan's hand lightly caresses her arm.

A long moment passes, then he speaks in a whisper again. "What are you thinking?"

Surprised at the question, Sabé turns her head and looks at her companion for a moment. She wasn't thinking something specific, but now she is: "How strange it is to end up where it all began." It's strange, eerie poetry, but it's poetry all the same. She shifts more onto her side to better commit her attention to him. "What are _you_ thinking?"

Reminiscent or nostalgic maybe, he takes his time to give reply, all while studying her thoroughly and patiently. "That I cannot imagine being here without you with me," he finally says. Words that are medicine to a sick patient, water to someone dying of thirst. Between then, he catches her hand softly with his. The touch is tentative. Careful. "I know things have changed between us since all this happened and I… I only hope we can somehow find our way back to the way we were," he confesses, and his face has become clouded. Worried.

Sabé knows his hope well, and hearing that he feels the same as she does is immensely needed. But… today has taught her something. "The old ways are gone," she murmurs, then squeezes his fingers softly. "We have to find our way somewhere new."

Obi-Wan's eyes are tender. He understands immediately. "Together," he says softly.

A vow. A promise. A word that allows so much tension she's been holding onto to slip away. "Yes, together," she repeats, her agreement. An irreplaceable joy blossoming deep within her chest.

His eyes hold dreams for their future. Timid, growing hope. The daring to believe in a brighter tomorrow. "All of us."

She nods faintly, eyes glossing over. If he believes, she can begin to find the ability too. "All of us," she echoes, dreamlike, lost in thought. The family they never imagined, but are hurtling toward becoming. Yes, it's all unknown, but it won't be done alone. _Together. All of us._ What was daunting just a few hours ago somehow now seems more and more possible in between these four walls. On this quiet plot of land outside of the city reaches. Will it be easy? Certainly not. Is it what she would have chosen if given freedom of any choice being hers? No. But this is what they've been given. And the time to make something good out of it is here. _Together. All of us_.

His eyes linger on hers openly. Blue galaxies live in those depths—entire universes of tender history—a quiet promise of abiding love that Sabé feared she would not see there again. The moonlight makes him otherworldly. He's impossible to look away from.

Helplessly, she feels a smile softening her features and lifting the corners of her mouth—and that smile elevates every molecule of her being, washing her warm in a feeling she remembers: hope—peace. Her hand comes to touch the side of his face, thumb brushing against his beard and cheek a few times in slow, tender affection. His expression has softened to match hers, and he smiles back in the same quiet way she's smiling at him. The weight of everything is gone for a moment, replaced by a feeling like flying all while being sheltered and protected. Obi-Wan shifts closer, resting his forehead to hers while careful fingertips trace hair away from her face to behind her ear.

For a few heartbeats, they stay in a trance of soft touches and breathing each other's air—it's a moment in time from their life before the darkness—confirmation that the foundation of tender things between them is not destroyed or gone. The world around them grows obscure and vague, no other details mattering except each other. Sabé and Obi-Wan study each other's darkening eyes unguardedly, and then at the same moment, they meet each other for something that is very long overdue. He leans down as she tilts her head up, and their lips meet together for a soft, sweet kiss that they both press into slowly and deeply. Sparks explode in Sabé's veins, racing to zing her centermost point to life, reigniting a feeling she forgot since setting foot onto this desert wasteland. The ever-deepening pull. The flame that drew them in from the cold.

Intoxicated by the sensation, she melts into his body with hers wherever she can, and he makes a soft sound when she does. Obi-Wan circles his arms around her to gently pull her against him fully, a hand tangling in her hair as his mouth opens on hers.

Sabé answers in kind, fingers curling into whatever part of Obi-Wan she can find: his hair, his tunic, the familiar muscles of his arms—she's hungry for him, starved to feel and be felt. A wealth of sensual heat smolders between them, building into fire, tantalizing them to go deeper, _demanding_ it of them. Growing more urgent with every heated second that tics by, the kissing continues as Obi-Wan shifts himself over Sabé, letting the press of desire burn into the ripening space between her parted legs. He lets a helpless moan into her mouth when she pulls him harder against herself with bare legs and feet. His softly calloused hand travels to press into the soft skin of her thigh, dragging upward slightly and pulling the hem of her gown with it, letting cold air hit against the exposed skin. It's a tentative, primal question—and Sabé is already answering by pushing at the waist of his pants with frantic, hungry hands. They no longer kiss, instead pant into each other's mouths, just a few centimeters apart as they do the quick and clumsy work to be able to access each other—a gown pushed up to the waist, pants pulled down to mid thigh—and suddenly there's a blunt nudge, intense anticipating eye contact, and two soft gasps when their union is suddenly made total.

Sabé's head falls back and her mouth hangs open in a silent cry as she feels Obi-Wan's face bury into her neck to muffle his own helpless sound. His hands clench into her hard as he dives as deeply as he can, bringing them as close as humanly possible, filling her ache to the brim. Breathlessly they seek each other's gaze, finding eyes hooded by pleasure and need looking back. Obi-Wan cups Sabé's cheek briefly, trembling, letting his thumb drag down across her cheek as his emotionally naked expression and eyes are met by hers. A silent _I love you_. Sabé turns her head and kisses his thumb, then on a whim, thirsty for him, she sucks the digit softly into the wet heat of her soft mouth, causing him to lose more composure and bow his face against hers then demand another kiss from her when he can no longer stand it. Even as their tongues explore, his hand sneaks down and back up under her gown to drag the wet digit against the peak of a stuff nipple, eliciting a soft cry from Sabé's mouth that's lost in his.

The entanglement continues: mutually lost in bliss, their atmosphere becomes nothing but the heavy breath of the other, sweat-damp skin, and friction created between bodies that have needed each other so dearly. They find an erotically distressing cadence together that simultaneously frustrates and alleviates, building to heights they rush toward and clamor for. Fingers tangle into hair and lips drag against each other's skin until they find each other's mouths again for a frenzied, messy kiss that matches the deepening, wild abandon of passion.

Urgency rises and the peak comes closer and closer—Obi-Wan recognizes the way Sabé sounds, and with a doubling of effort, he thrusts them over and over again toward the inevitable crescendo with work that leaves them muffling cries as they cling on, praying for the blessed finale to fall over them.

It hits powerfully like a tsunami, first her, then him: the temporary loss of every sense except pleasure. She cries out into his shoulder as quietly as possible while his hot breath carries choked moans into her ear; they hold onto each other while stars explode in every vein. They're left stunned, amazed, relieved, and staring into each other's eyes again as the comedown begins.

After the euphoria fades and goodnight is whispered, Sabé has a final thought before she slips into the depths of sleep: being at Obi-Wan's side like this again is an unmistakable feeling. The same feeling of coming home after a very long time away.


	5. The Visitor

The dream has no defined beginning—she's just suddenly immersed without remembering what happened beforehand.

It's both exact and vague at the same time. Surrounding her are comforting neutral tones of gray: sleek silver panels that rise from a smooth polished floor—these span out ahead, making up an indistinct, softly lit hallway. It beckons wordlessly to the dreamer, enticing her to discover whatever lies ahead.

Given no other inclination, Sabé moves forward slowly without feeling her body. There's a floating sensation accompanied by an elusive feeling of familiarity.

_What is this place? I know I remember it from somewhere…_

_A_ soft rustling whisper catches her attention and Sabé looks down at herself to see that she's wrapped in feathery black from head to toe. With wonder, she instantly recognizes the dress she hasn't thought of in years… a clever disguise, a most weighty role. This is the garment she wore when fate carried her life down a very decisive turn.

Ahead, there's an almost too-bright expanse that draws her focus. Recollection nudges at her. The doorway out, isn't it? Yes, it is. But to where?

She drifts closer still and can begin to make out dunes of endless beige—and suddenly Sabé realizes what was so obvious this entire time. _Tatooine_. The royal starship.

… _So this is a memory._

Even as she realizes this, she sees that someone stands at that way out. His hands are clasped behind himself thoughtfully. Was he there before?

His Jedi robe, russet like freshly tilled earth, billows around him lightly. At the back of his closely-cropped hair there's a short ponytail. At his right-hand ear, the Padawan's braid winds down. He must hear her approaching, because he turns as if in slow motion, a mildly curious look on his young, clean shaven face. He smiles softly when their eyes meet in a familiar way. There's mischief and fondness alike on his boyish features. His eyes are blazing and otherwordly. _Obi-Wan_. Sabé smiles in her spirit, a gentle feeling washing over her. She can feel the warmth emanating from where he stands. She wants to go to him, of course she does. But… something stops her.

A new presence. A feeling. A prickle on the back of her neck that doesn't fit with the dream. Nothing unpleasant, just… _different_. Turning, she sees a very tall man who was not there a moment ago watching her with a mild and pleasant expression. He's in Jedi robes, and leaned shoulder-first into one of the walls. While it has been years, she knows him immediately and without doubt. Thunderstruck, Sabé watches as _Qui-Gon Jinn_ rises to his full height and smiles kindly at her.

"Hello there," he greets, then makes a small bow. The accented voice is every bit as silken and likable as Sabé remembers. No immediate reply comes to her—she's too stunned at how clear his image is and how tangible he seems. _Why am I dreaming about Qui-Gon Jinn…?_ His smile increases, causing his eyes to crinkle slightly. "I don't believe we ever met properly," he offers conversationally.

Sabé feels a disbelieving, confused smile grow on her face. "Well, I… I _do_ know who you are…" she replies, feeling her own voice rather than hearing it out loud.

He smiles anew, a small and mysterious little gesture. "And I know who _you_ are," he replies evenly. Even though the words are plain, he is enigmatic somehow. Sabé keeps studying him. Every detail is crisp and vivid: careworn features and twinkling eyes, the smile that plays beneath the neat beard; the graying hair that fans across his shoulders half tied back; even the fabric of his Jedi robes looks exact and touchable, _real_. Sabé contemplates him with open and curious scrutiny, a strange instinct nudging at her.

"This is a dream," she begins slowly and cautiously, "but are you…?"

He chuckles so softly and briefly she might have imagined it. "Real?" he supplies, seeming to be amused at the thought. He takes a moment to contemplate, all while that same maddening smile plays on his mouth. "I believe that I am as real as someone who has died can be." He doesn't concern himself with furthering that part of the discussion. Instead, he folds his arms into his own sleeves and approaches her more closely. "Tell me, Sabé. How is my old apprentice doing?" He looks to the image of Obi-Wan, who still stands at the doorway out. The younger Jedi is oblivious to the interaction taking place, instead looking out into the desert contentedly.

Confused, Sabé wonders if she's missed something. For a moment, she debates herself on if Qui-Gon is real or just a very vivid dream. "Can you not ask him yourself?" she finally asks.

The wizened master gives the slightest shake of the head and his eyes remain on Obi-Wan. He's matter of fact in his gentle way: "He is very unreceptive to my attempts to reach out."

Sabé recognizes the flicker she hears in his tone. It's worry. She lets her gaze go to Obi-Wan briefly before her eyes question Qui-Gon once more. "From what he's told me… he feels the same of you."

There's a fond if bittersweet smile then a soft _hmm_. "He always had a certain way of seeing things, that Obi-Wan," Master Jinn muses, almost to himself. Then his expression sobers, turning faintly concerned. Faded blue eyes find Sabé's, and the four words strike a somber chord: "His grief consumes him."

She knows this, and she knows this well—but hearing it from Obi-Wan's dear old Master makes it somehow more real. Sabé looks at the memory of Obi-Wan—young and before the unthinkable happened. Her heart gives a pang as despite the pleasant lull of the dream, she remembers the harsh truth of the bitter waking world beyond. The idea of facing that world after waking leaves her averse. "We've both been thrown into a storm we could never have imagined facing," she murmurs after a moment. Her tone is colored by the profound loss she's endured. By the heaviness she still hasn't quite found a way to carry. Even thinking of it briefly in a dream leaves her feeling fractionally more blank. "Everything from before is gone…"

Qui-Gon gives another soft _hmm_ and causes her to feel a flicker of hope and of desperation to know what he means when he sagely proclaims: "Not everything." Interest caught, Sabé listens with anticipation. "The Jedi were very wise in many respects," he reflects offhandedly, "But not even they were exempt from flawed thinking." There's a knowing quality to him that causes more and more curiosity. "Feelings are inescapable," he continues thoughtfully, "And love is nothing to run from. One of the Order's greatest flaws was denying that reality." He is tranquil in a way that Sabé covets. His eyes suddenly alight on hers. "But there is a new way coming."

His words strike a feeling of awe and fear alike into her. Her heart is beating faster. He seems to be alluding to something specific, something he thinks she should know. Mentally attempting to follow, Sabé gives her best guess. "…Luke?"

Pleased, the Jedi master bestows a secretive smile upon her. A silent _yes_. "And others," he says, briefly indicating _her_. A small avalanche of worries, fears, and uncertainty cascades over Sabé, leaving quiet hanging in the air for a few beats. He's referring to her yet to be born child. The child Sabé didn't prepare for or seek to have. The child Sabé can't totally wrap her mind around. The idea of this baby someday being someone who will be part of 'the new way' is overwhelming to say the least of it. "You're apprehensive," Qui-Gon comments gently.

Somewhat defensive, Sabé shies away from discussing what's so foreign to her still and stays neutral. "That's putting it mildly." They fall into mutual silence. Eyes on Obi-Wan again, Sabé remembers Qui-Gon's words: _his pain consumes him_. And how indeed it has. Their time on Tatooine since the Empire rose to power has been the most hellish thing Sabé could ever fathom. She knows Obi-Wan's pain is similar to hers, but different. More personal, more layered. And as always, it deeply worries and unsettles her to see him unwell in any way. It leaves her feeling powerless to help. "Will he be all right?" she asks momentarily. She's apprehensive to hear the answer. And in desperate need of reassurance.

Qui-Gon is serene. "As the suns set, still they will always rise."

A rueful smile causes Sabé to shake her head and eye Obi-Wan once more. Trust a Jedi to speak in riddles… and yet it does give her a small glimmer of hope. Still… she has more questions, one of them more pressing than others. "Why have you come to me like this?" she asks, but as she looks at him again, the place where he stood a moment before is now empty. "Qui-Gon?" She peers around, but he has disappeared completely.

Left just as disconcerted as she was at his appearance, Sabé notices that the dream abruptly feels hazy again, soft around the edges. _How strange_ , she thinks, and after a moment of silence, she gives a quiet huff of irritation, then ponders Obi-Wan once more. Her irked feeling lifts away like humidity under strong sunlight. The soft expression on the Padawan's boyish face is captivating, taking Sabé back to the time when this man was a mere stranger… a question mark. Feeling her eyes on his profile, the young Jedi turns and contemplates her, smiling ever so softly. That cerulean gaze is lit by the spark of youth and tempered by familiar wry wit. It's automatic, the recollection of how falling in love with him felt: a flutter of interest, a shy and growing feeling of affection and gentleness, that ever-constant pull. To look at him now is to remember the years spent skirting around the inevitable… the years attempting to ignore their ever-deepening connection.

And to think that now after all that, they've come back to the place it all started to live out their days.

Overcome with a certain type of fondness that only Obi-Wan can inspire in her, Sabé moves toward him and he holds his hand out to her. She reaches out to take it, but he's suddenly so bright. Blindingly. In fact, so much so that she cringes and puts a hand up, but when she does that there's a panic-inducing backward fall into oblivion. Sabé hears herself gasping and breathing hard in panic at the sudden movement. Blinking and disoriented, Sabé comes to her waking senses to find her hand blocking out harsh morning light beams coming in from the huge gaping spot nearby where a wall should be. Her other hand is beside her and clenching into blankets, an attempt to catch herself in a fall that she only dreamed.

Peering around through a woozy squint, she's quickly reminded of where she is. No longer in the traveler's lodge in Mos Eisley, but instead on the very uncomfortable hard-packed pallet she and Obi-Wan made last night in the first night here: their very new, very imperfect, very unfinished home. Even as she registers any number of stiff joints and the usual morning nausea, she also realizes that Obi-Wan isn't next to her. Worry spikes, then grows intense as she realizes: _I slept all night… Luke didn't wake!_ Head whipping the other direction as she bolts upward, she sees that Luke isn't in the little cot he was in when she last saw him. Convinced of the worst, she's already jumping up and groggily spinning in a quick circle to check for any signs of the missing two.

Nothing. No one.

Snatching up her blaster, Sabé rushes in full out alarm, barefoot, toward a muffled sound on the northern wing of the house without a single coherent thought, only a thousand vague terrors making her hands shake and breath come in short little stabs. But thankfully it's all imagined: she finds Obi-Wan and Luke in the master bathroom, alive, well, and going about routine business. Her blaster sags to her side as she presses a hand over her hammering heart. She vaguely feels the kyber crystal there, serenely resting between skin and fabric. Luke is awake and babbling sweetly, carried deftly in the crook of Obi-Wan's arm as the Jedi Master uses his free hand to carefully trim up with scissors. His beard, which had been bushy as a Bantha the day previous, has been tamed down into close semblance of the neat, closely cut style from before. He looks shockingly different for it too—and better, most certainly. He acknowledges her with a brief glance and smile. "Good morning," he says pleasantly, briefly glancing at her weapon and understanding immediately. There's an unspoken apology in his eyes. "We haven't gone anywhere, no need to worry."

Sabé exhales to steady her nerves and after a few embarrassed seconds, she very carefully sets her blaster onto the nearby stack of containers. She gives herself a moment to take in the scene and recover from her alarm. Thankfully, Obi-Wan doesn't say anything more about the gaff, which helps. His decision to clean himself up interests her—since he's had constant access to all the tools he's using right now, but let himself look like someone from the wilderness regions. Is this a sign that he's feeling more like himself again? In either case, it heartens her. And anyway, there are more pressing things on her mind: "Did you get up with Luke last night?" The one-month-old baby usually wakes every few hours fussing and needing tending to.

Obi-Wan casts a brief smile down at the youngling. "Yes, but only a handful of times. He's sleeping for longer and longer periods lately, it seems."

Relieved but still flustered, Sabé drifts a bit closer as she pieces it together. "I really must have been sleeping hard…" she mutters, taken aback at herself. She's never been a deep sleeper, and certainly hasn't slept more than a few hours at a time since taking charge of Luke…

"You were," Obi-Wan confirms as the scissors make snappy little sounds against a final few spots along his jawline. "And… I didn't want to wake you," he says, giving her his full regard for a moment. There's a soft, weary smile paired with gentle eyes. "You looked so peaceful. And I know you haven't rested well since…" he hesitates, then delicately decides on, "everything."

Comforted and thankful for his thoughtfulness, Sabé smiles back briefly in kind. She hopes she can do the same for him soon, too. "Thank you," she murmurs, a swell of love for this man doubling her heart in size. As her pulse continues to slow down after her fit of alarm, she takes in a deep breath and leans into the door frame, settling there to watch Obi-Wan make his finishing touches. He holds Luke so comfortably and easily, and something about the sight of him holding the child as he trims his beard strikes Sabé as the most attractive he's ever been to her. It is a perfect example of his steadfast selflessness, his dogged, gentle loyalty. He's surprisingly deft and intuitive with Luke, which only endears her more to him and makes her think of him as a father. Loving him has never reached a threshold or a bottom, and perhaps it never will… there is always a new depth, a higher peak. It leaves Sabé humbled, and unbidden, last night runs through her mind again: waking up under moonlight and making love for the first time since escaping Naboo, being close to each other in a way she needed more than she's known. It leaves her feeling a sense of wholeness and belonging where there was for a torturous time very little of either. She feels like she can breathe again. Hope again. Smile again. And that's when she realizes she _is_ smiling, and big too, even as Obi-Wan peers at her with a curious little expression on his face, a tiny smile. He wants to know what she's thinking. She shakes her head as her smile grows, because the words escape her. "So what inspired—" she gestures to him broadly, "all this?"

Obi-Wan considers his reflection in the very small, cracked mirror he has set onto the countertop, and his expression softens. Sobers. His reply is thought-out and faintly colored morose gray. "It's… time to be myself again." He pauses. "Whoever that is." The words strike Sabé as deeply sad. Qui-Gon's words come across Sabé's mind: _his pain consumes him_. At some point today, she supposes she should share her dream with him, but not yet. No, not yet. Obi-Wan lets out a satisfied breath, nods at himself, then delicately sets the scissors down and turns to Sabé fully. His expression asks silently for feedback on his work.

"Well, you certainly look more civilized," Sabé says approvingly, choosing to refrain from dwelling on her dream. Luke sputters with gusto as if he disagrees with her assessment.

Good humor makes a russet eyebrow briefly twitch and Obi-Wan chuckles down at the baby. "Appearances _can_ be deceiving," he jokes, even as Sabé reaches up to push strands of his increasingly longer hair out of his eyes. It's both an affectionate and helpful gesture, and Obi-Wan briefly peers up at her fingers. "I'm thinking of letting it grow long again," he says. It's an unspoken question: what does she think about that?

Sabé studies him: his hair is about an inch longer than a month ago and remarkably shaggy. She remembers when he had it long enough to pull back before the Clone Wars. "It suits you longer," she says, secretly hoping he'll grow it long enough to pull back again. She never got to see it that long _and_ down. She thinks that then feels oddly about such a fanciful thought. Luke coos, and distracted from her internal judgments on herself, Sabé grins at him and takes him from Obi-Wan, kissing the baby's face hello and getting two enthusiastic tiny hands whacking either of her cheeks with very poor coordination.

Obi-Wan eyes himself in the mirror again uncertainly, still mulling over his hairstyle. "It's not too… rogueish?"

Sabé chuckles, shifting Luke to rest face-to-shoulder where his excitedly pumping hands can't reach her face. "That's exactly _why_ it suits you." She glances around at the rough walls of the very humble house that is now theirs. "And this place."

She has a good point, and Obi-Wan chuckles too, approaching Luke and Sabé then putting an affectionate hand on Luke's head, which is moving around as he gawks with developing neck strength. "Ben and Isa, the reclusive, rogueish hermits living at the Jundland Wastes' edge…" Obi-Wan muses, then nods, making eye contact with Sabé. A smile lurks behind the veil of his beard. "But what will you do with _your_ hair?" he teases, and Sabé barely registers the question: instead, given over to a sudden urge and burst of affection, she grabs the front of his tunic with her free hand, cranes her neck up, and kisses him firm and earnest, feeling his surprise then his reciprocation in the brief touch. When she pulls back, Obi-Wan is pleased but puzzled, his voice a little huskier for it. "What was _that_ for?"

Sabé deeply searches his eyes, not sure how to say everything that's inside succinctly. She settles on: "Because I don't want to take you for granted. _Us_ for granted." She's quiet and sincere, haunted by the ghost of all the pain they've gone through since escaping here to Tatooine. "I… can't explain it, but I felt like I lost you somehow ever since coming here," she admits, then adds on the very important: "Until yesterday."

Understanding fills Obi-Wan's eyes and he nods quietly. "I know," he says, his tone carrying the weight of his heart. He gently reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. A tender, lingering touch. Their eyes hold for a long moment, speaking sentiment without words. There is a shared feeling of wanting to stay in this moment… to just be near each other emotionally and physically. "No more taking each other for granted," Obi-Wan finally says, then kisses her softly, a promise in his words and his touch: Things will be better.

And for the first time in such a long, painful time, Sabé can truly begin to believe that someday, somehow, eventually… things truly _will_ be.

* * *

**Later**

Night has fallen, leaving Tatooine transformed from a world of beige to cool blue darkness softly touched by rising silver moonlight. A few feet outside of the still-gaping hole in the side of the Kenobi-Nebira homestead, Sabé's slender build stands quiet and small against the rugged, dark outlines of the Jundland Wastes. The air is cold and dry, breezeless.

Obi-Wan approaches her alone. "There you are," he says, coming to stand behind her with gentle hands on either arm. She turns her head slightly to acknowledge him. "Aren't you cold?" he asks softly. She doesn't wear a jacket or cloak over her day clothes.

Sabé shakes her head no and breathes in deeply, briefly grasping either of his hands with hers. "It feels good," she says, and that's when Obi-Wan realizes where she's returning her gaze: upward to the many emerging stars. "I'm wondering which one is home," she murmurs, then catches herself. "Naboo, I mean." She hesitates, then settles back into him a bit more, allowing him to gently embrace her. Obi-Wan rests one of his warmer cheeks against her cooler one and for a brief moment, they listen to the enduring silence together and reflect. Sabé's energy is pensive and thoughtful, causing Obi-Wan to wonder what she is thinking of. His thoughts drift. It has been a long, tiring day, the kind of day that seems to have started only a few moments ago—but is already at its end. However, they were able to accomplish quite a bit: their trip into Anchorhead to visit the markets yielded the supplies and food they'll need for the next few days, then they followed that up with a few hours organizing and setting up the kitchen and all its appliances. After that they worked on getting two more vaporators repaired so that their watersource will be plentiful. All of this was done together while sharing the duty of wearing or carrying Luke, feeding, and changing him. The setting of the suns came all too quickly, and now here they are… left with a moment of well-earned peace. Just as he thinks that, a harsh, distant sound emanates across the desert plains and mountain passes, causing both of them to straighten and stiffen as they crane their ears to better hear and decipher the sound. "Was that…?" Sabé whispers lower than low.

On alert, Obi-Wan nods, knowing her question without hearing it. That strange sound is exactly like he's heard it described to him… and exactly the same sound the foes that he and Sabé encountered years ago made in their unexpected attack. "Sand People," he confirms tensely, even while he leans into the Force and evaluates the tide of sensation. He can feel malice, restlessness, and hunger… but its aim is not focused toward them, and the beings are further off than he might have guessed based off of sound alone. "Too far away right now to concern ourselves with," he assures Sabé, who already has a hand ready to draw her blaster. She glances at him darkly, seeming to question his statement. "Trust me, my love," Obi-Wan says earnestly, then puts an arm across her shoulders. It still bodes well to get out of the open. "Come inside, will you?"

She does, but not without a few backward glances. Inside, a warm fire snaps merrily in the fireplace hearth, and DC-10 watches over Luke, who is on his back in the makeshift bed swatting at the little mobile that Obi-Wan found in the markets today. Rough silver cutouts of stars and moons twirl out of reach above the baby's head, and he coos and sputters happily when DC-10 nudges the objects into movement again. A sound that relaxes both Sabé and Obi-Wan. On the wall beside the infant, the fire casts dancing shadows from the little mobile's movements—resulting in a magical effect. The home feels cozy and safe, despite the looming threats that are constant here.

"Master Luke is quite taken with his contraption, I have to say," DC-10 says with a certain satisfied tone.

Sabé glances toward the outside world, her thoughts plainly still lingering on the Sand People. "Will you go into guard mode, DC-10?" she asks, carefully kneeling then sitting beside Luke.

"Certainly," the droid says, then positions themself near the hole in the wall and goes stock still as security activates.

Seeming to be as reassured as possible by that, Sabé unholsters her weapon, lays it to the side, then reclines next to Luke, propping herself up on an elbow as she watches him play. She spins the little stars for him, her expression growing fond and watchful as she continues to relax. After a moment of observing, Obi-Wan joins her opposite of Luke, mirroring her stance and watching Sabé just as she watches Luke. She clearly loves the baby boy, he knows that much—he sees it every day in all manner of the way she protects and cares for him. While she's never referred to herself as his mother, she absolutely is. She's taken the role on fully without hesitation, only fierce love and full commitment. Obi-Wan understands: it's easy to love the boy, despite knowing the tragedy he came from, the dark heritage his father gave him, despite all the unknowns ahead. Loving this innocent, brand new person is automatic. Obi-Wan reaches up and without touching the objects, gently spins the silver shapes with the Force to Luke's delight. A shriek of joy sounds and uninhibited laughter follows, causing Sabé and Obi-Wan mutual tenderness.

"I've never heard him laugh quite like that before," Sabé breathes in equal surprise and affection. She and Obi-Wan's eyes meet briefly as they bond over the moment. Sabé then puts a hand on Luke's belly and tickles lightly. "Obi-Wan picked a good gift for you, didn't he?" she fawns, and Luke chortles.

Obi-Wan touches the baby's head, which is full of whisper-soft blonde hairs. "I hope next visit to market we can find a proper bed for you, little one," he says with a sigh, lingering on all the lack for a brief moment. It will be a long marathon to turn this barren house into the home he feels that Luke and Sabé deserve. He contemplates Sabé for a moment, his eyes going to her stomach. He corrects his previous thought: Luke, Sabé, and their currently nameless daughter. So far, Sabé doesn't look much different physically and Obi-Wan forgets sometimes, for only a moment or two, that she is pregnant. But when he remembers, he marvels in a very still, small way. _His_ child. _His_ daughter. Made from the union of his and Sabé's own flesh and blood. It feels sacred to him, holy. Bigger and more meaningful than anything else he has ever heard of or seen before. Fatherhood remains a mostly foreign thought to him, one he has to keep working to understand, process, and anticipate—he and Sabé have been so focused on survival that there has been little time spent speaking of their daughter. But to be here in this home and realize this is the place her life will begin, the place where her feet will first take steps… it emotionally bowls Obi-Wan over.

Sabé remains momentarily unaware of Obi-Wan's thoughts. She's studying Luke, searching the baby's gaze with contemplation. "He has his father's eyes," she comments softly, so softly that perhaps she was thinking out loud. Realizing she's mentioned Anakin, her abruptly worried eyes fly to meet Obi-Wan's.

While it is a mildly disconcerting and sobering topic, Obi-Wan has been having that same thought since ever looking into Luke's soft blue eyes. It is not a new observation. He contemplates Sabé's apprehensive face. His mind is not on Anakin Skywalker. His next question is very quiet and deliberate: "Whose eyes do you think ours will have?"

Sabé's eyes, a beautiful russet that has always made Obi-Wan think of fertile earth, are startled. In the dark orbs, the fire crackling nearby reflects warmly. A surprised, touched smile grows. "Yours I hope," she finally answers. Obi-Wan feels himself react with a smile of his own that says he has different thoughts. A curious questioning expression hovers on Sabé's face. "What?"

Obi-Wan holds her gaze. "Well, I was going to say I hope she has _yours_."

Sabé smiles in a way that seems both touched and hesitant. Hopeful. "So… you've been thinking about her."

Obi-Wan keys into something now, not only by observance, but through Sabé's Force signature. "Well of course, haven't you?"

There is a long pause before Sabé responds without answering his question. "What kinds of things do you think about?"

Studying his partner for a long moment, Obi-Wan decides not to press. Only to be honest. "Worries of course," he reflects, "endless worries. But also… hopes in between those dark places. Dreams, perhaps." He hears himself say dreams and frowns ever so slightly, feeling another instance of uncertainty: Inability to reconcile who he has become with how he was raised. "A Jedi isn't meant to dream."

Sabé is ever so mildly cynical. "Jedi were not meant to do many things they did in fact do." The cynicism fades into intent curiosity she's tries to downplay. "What things do you dream?"

Obi-Wan wets his lips briefly. His internal imaginings feel incredibly intimate and even forbidden. But who is left to forbid him from having the family he is very clearly about to have? "You," he starts off vaguely. "Me. Us." He looks to Luke, then to Sabé's belly before meeting her eyes again. "Them." He pauses, surrendering his mind to glimpses of a life he has not lived yet where two children laugh and smile, caught up in the wonder that being young so easily brings. "I imagine us all living happily, somehow," he says, feeling awkward discussing the subject but only because it feels taboo. He breathes in steadily, pushing away the training that makes his mind second-guess his feelings and emotions. "The children growing strong and tall…" He pictures himself with his daughter. He imagines she shares eye and hair color with Sabé, he imagines she is brave and kind and strong. He imagines her coming to him when she is afraid, or hurt, knowing her father will always be ready to receive her with love and care. He imagines both children running to him with laughter and trust. He will teach, defend, and live his life for their betterment, always. His heart feels bigger inside his chest, but even as the beauty of the scenario flits through his mind, the reality does too. He remembers Anakin's hate-filled screams on Mustafar, and the great sinking feeling comes over him as it always does. "I don't know how I'll train them, Sabé," he manages quietly, convinced anew that he will fail. That he will somehow destroy or sabotage the little lives entrusted to him. What if someday one or both of _them_ falls to the Dark Side too?

Sabé reaches over to touch his arm, concern etched onto her beautiful features. It halts Obi-Wan's thoughts in their tracks. "That's not something to think about yet, is it?" she asks carefully. "Luke is a baby and… she isn't even born yet." She softly lets the backs of her fingers brush his cheek. His worry remains, and so she offers what she can. "You'll have what you need as the days come. I'm sure of it."

They are words that truly touch and uplift him. And she's right—it's in line with his teaching, too. Focus should be kept on the here and now. Although… there is _one_ thing in the near future he would like to know about… one thing he is eager to know… still, he falters, trying to gather the courage to ask. "What will we name her, Sabé?"

Again, Sabé seems immediately startled, then in rapid succession sentimental, worried, then reluctant. "I—I don't know," she says, pulling her hand back to herself and dropping eye contact. "I… don't feel ready to choose a name," she admits, her voice catching on emotion. "I'm too afraid."

While he might be able to guess, Obi-Wan asks, and gently too. "Of what?"

There is stark fear in her wide eyes when she looks at him again and admits it all. "A-afraid I can't do this." She swallows, wets her lips, shakes her head. "Physically, emotionally… I'm afraid of how much I'll love her… how dangerous it is here. Of failing her. Of losing her. All of that, and she doesn't even have a name yet." It's Obi-Wan's turn to reach out and take hold of her arm. He understands. Oh, how he understands. Sabé smiles weakly, then her eyes cut to Luke, who seems to be sensing the adults' mood and is quiet, watchful. "All these fears for her, I fear for Luke too."

Obi-Wan squeezes lightly, holding onto her. "Afraid or not, I'm with you." He seeks her eyes and pauses for emphasis. "All of you."

Sabé attempts a brave expression. "I know," she returns with a voice full of gratitude and love. She believes in him. That alone is enough to grow hope larger. Obi-Wan squeezes again and lets go, resting his hand on the infant between them gently. Sabé's hand covers his. A silent symbol of their mutual commitment to each other and their unique little family unit. They are in this together.

Obi-Wan truly does understand his loved one's feelings of fear, and can't imagine a scenario where they both _wouldn't_ be terrified witless about their quickly coming future. Among all the losses and galactic upheaval they've endured, parenthood is no small responsibility. Sabé deliberates silently for a long moment, her eyes prompting Obi-Wan to realize she has something important to tell him. He couldn't have predicted what she is about to say. "I've been trying to find a time to tell you this all day," she begins hesitantly, "but… last night I dreamed of Qui-Gon." Thunderstruck at the mention of his Master, Obi-Wan blinks twice. "But it wasn't a dream," Sabé says with utmost conviction. "It was really _him_."

Confounded, it takes Obi-Wan a moment to find words. His mind is automatically set to spinning at lightspeed with questions. But only one comes out, and clumsily too. " _Qui-Gon_? W-what did he say?"

Sabé shakes her head shallowly. "Well… he seems worried about you," she says carefully. "And eager to speak. He said you've been unreceptive to his attempts to reach out." Faintly appalled at that statement, Obi-Wan wonders if he heard correctly. "I told him you feel the same way about him," Sabé quickly adds, then falls silent to study Obi-Wan's reaction. In short, the Jedi Master is at a loss for words. Unreceptive to attempts to reach out? All Obi-Wan has done since coming here is beg for answers—for a sign—for _anything_. No. _No_ , this cannot be true. Sabé is sensitive to Obi-Wan's hurt astonishment. "He didn't really say much else, except to offer some hope for the future," she says, studying him with empathy and sympathy. As if on cue, Luke whimpers and moans, the threat of an oncoming flood of tears. Sabé is already intervening. "Ohh, come here little one," she says, somehow simultaneously sitting up and scooping Luke into her arms to cradle and rock him. "Shall I sing you a song?" she asks softly, bouncing him rhythmically as he keeps moaning lowly—not quite a cry, but not a good mood either. "Shh, there there…" she soothes, even as she eyes Obi-Wan with curious worry.

Obi-Wan sits then fully stands, gathering his wits and taking a deep breath. He manages a small, courageous smile at Sabé for her benefit more than his. His mind is very distracted and he needs to find his center of balance. "I'm going to meditate for a bit, if you don't need me for the time being."

Sabé's concern is visible. "Should I not have told you?" she asks apprehensively. "Are you all right?"

By choice, Obi-Wan is steadfast and measured. "I'm fine, just…" he searches for the right word. "Surprised." He gives her a positive little expression. "Thank you for telling me."

Sabé nods, still bouncing the baby in her arms. While trepidation and worry linger in her eyes, she manages a smile. "We'll be here. Take all the time you need."

Obi-Wan nods, then bends and cranes to leave a soft kiss on her forehead before he leaves.

* * *

Under the quiet shroud of night, he sits cross-legged on the sand a few paces away from the homestead. Stars speckle the night sky overhead in a brilliant pattern of pinpricks, and the rising moon casts Tatooine a soft tint of blue. He doesn't dwell on the scenery surrounding him though. Obi-Wan's eyes are closed and his senses are dull to the physical world outside of himself as he goes deeper and deeper into his trance. Floating in the sphere of energies, he is synced with all living beings, he is part of the pure symphony that connects all as one. The heartbeat of the universe urges Obi-Wan to just _Be_. To let go, to surrender and to leave himself behind. But he isn't ready, or perhaps is not able to answer the call. Searching questions nag at him like flies, clouding his vision and competing for his attention, preventing him from sinking down into the serene depths of the Force. That is the place he needs to be, but has not been able to return to since Anakin. Since Mustafar.

Like an ocean underneath him, the Force ripples and rolls, undulating gently with a pulse he can hear, feel, and taste. _Let go, sink deep, come home,_ the call comes over and over again. It's in his bones themselves. Still, Obi-Wan clings to the surface stubbornly, lost in regrets from yesterdays and fears for all the coming tomorrows. _Let go, sink deep, be here now,_ the call reverbs. _Come home_. Obi-Wan's spirit craves the rest and peace he knows awaits at the deepest part of himself, and his grip on the past and the future weakens. A whisper, which sounds so much like Qui-Gon's voice, comes: _here and now, Obi-Wan. Be here. Be now_.

And weakened from his valiant fight to hold onto the things that do not serve him, Obi-Wan finally lets go of it all. His demands on himself, his anxieties, his attachments, his feelings, his thoughts. He gives up and unclenches his hands. Everything he carries gently lifts away like fireflies into the ether as Obi-Wan sinks deep to the very core of everything. The sensation is comforting and secure, like being cradled in a womb, like being wrapped in cool healing waters. As the deep closes over him and surrounds him, his soul unfurls and expands, made one with the great song of all creation. Here nothing exists and _everything_ exists: all is infinite yet confined, beyond definition. This is the place he belongs, this is the place all came from and all shall go. And there, Obi-Wan exhales in a way that is not physical. At last, he is made whole again. He stays here in this place he had forgotten the feeling of and lets it remind him of who he is, lets wave after wave of renewal wash over him. Eternity passes, in a handful of what feels like seconds. Then without warning, he feels an urgent call to the surface and his eyes snap open: he is mildly breathless, jolted from being in such a deep meditation then suddenly being earthside again.

In front of him there are soft blue dunes kissed by highlights of silver from the high moonlight—a few hours have passed, he sees, all in the span of what felt like seconds. The air is cold enough that his nose is slightly numb. Obi-Wan shivers, frowning slightly as his keen senses alight on something new. If he didn't know better, he'd think he was sensing…

"There you are," comes a quiet, familiar voice from right beside him.

Obi-Wan gapes in astonishment as his heart flies to the top of his throat, his eyes not believing what he's seeing: sitting cross-legged beside him with hands on either knee, a man who is the most transparent glowing blue-white. " _Qui-Gon…_!" Obi-Wan chokes out.

Qui-Gon's familiar face, which has not aged a day since his death, bears a smile that makes his eyes twinkle. "It is good to see you, my young apprentice," he greets, mild as a spring day. His expression shifts into something slightly teasing. "Or should I say, my _once_ -young apprentice." Eyes misting, Obi-Wan hears himself laugh in disbelief and overcome joy alike as his master continues conversationally as if nothing has happened. As if they are simply meeting again after some time spent apart. "And of all the places to find you now… Tatooine."

Face to face with the only father figure he's ever known, his teacher and guide and friend, Obi-Wan is at a loss for words. All he can come up with is a stunned: "I—I've been trying to reach out to you every day since Yoda told me I could."

Qui-Gon nods, his eyes perceptive and wise. "I know."

Obi-Wa's elation becomes tempered by his apprehension and confusion. "Do you also know everything that has transpired, Master?"

Softening at the mention of the tragedy that has conspired to plunge the universe into darkness, Qui-Gon inclines his head respectfully. "The Force has shown me all," he says heavily, then peers at Obi-Wan closely, missing nothing. "It takes great strength to endure what you have, Obi-Wan."

It is Obi-Wan's turn to incline his head and let his eyes fall away. "I certainly don't feel strong," he comments quietly, almost stung by the assessment. There are now tears in his eyes for different reasons, and he looks at Qui-Gon pleadingly. "Please, Master—why have you been so elusive?"

While Qui-Gon's expression is sensitive and caring, he gently challenges the question. "Have I been?" Again, Obi-Wan is surprised. Qui-Gon's lips turn upward and eyes speak kindness. "I've been here waiting for you all this time." His smile grows, touched by bittersweetness. "When you were younger, our lessons so often dwelt on staying in the present," he reflects, sharing a long-suffering look with his student. "For good reason too." Obi-Wan can't help but smile too even through glimmering eyes as memories only they can share come to mind. That was indeed one of the lessons they returned to time and time again. Qui-Gon regards him with deep, abiding affection. "All in all, I am deeply glad to see you again, old friend."

Nodding his emphatic agreement, Obi-Wan still can't believe it. "And I am deeply glad to see _you_." When Yoda told him this communing was possible, Obi-Wan had been eager for it immediately, starving for another Order member to speak to and be heard by. Perhaps this was another lesson in patience.

Qui-Gon studies him for a heartbeat or two, seeming to miss nothing. "As always, Obi-Wan. The Force is at work in you, more deeply than you know."

That statement is another refrain that Qui-Gon's tutelage so often featured, but it causes an internal falter in Obi-Wan. His faith is shaken. His core beliefs have been deeply compromised. It's left him with scattered pieces of an incomprehensible puzzle. Is Qui-Gon a missing piece? "You once told me to follow the will of my heart," Obi-Wan begins slowly. "My deepest and most pure inclinations. I have done this, willingly at times, unwillingly in others…" his voice loses strength. "And look what's happened." It's an unsaid question he needs answered: why did this happen to me? Did I cause this?

His old master contemplates him with an unnerving mellow affect. "So you think everything that happened is _your_ doing?" he prompts, not giving the theory any true consideration, instead smiling sadly instead and letting one eyebrow raise slightly. "Some might say it takes great ego to assume they could singlehandedly do such a thing."

Obi-Wan is silent for a moment. He hadn't considered that… and yet he doesn't see many alternatives. "Am I not to blame?" he asks, valiantly holding emotion at bay. "With what happened with Anakin? _I_ trained him, Master, I had a part in it—you cannot dent that. You said he was the Chosen One. Who would bring balance to the Force." He can feel the heat of Mustafar again, the sting of the acidic and ashy air. It's very hard to speak again. "He _destroyed_ everything instead." The pain of losing his best friend and apprentice to the Dark Side strikes him anew, and the blames Obi-Wan has indeed put onto himself are leaden as stone. "I just want to understand," Obi-Wan whispers painfully. "Where is my part in all this?"

Qui-Gon is compassionate. "Exactly where it needs to be," he replies immediately, no shred of doubt present. His smile is sad. Understanding. "Other than that, I do not know. _Trust_ the Force, Obi-Wan. Even when it is the most difficult thing to do. Even when nothing makes sense." Qui-Gon contemplates the desert scenery for the first time, his eyes scanning the distance. "The story is not finished yet." The late Jedi Master's mouth twitches with a smile born of wonder as his transparent eyes meet Obi-Wan's again. "And truly, is it ever?"

Obi-Wan shakes his head ruefully. Once again, he is overjoyed and struck by how easy it is to pick right back up where things were left. "I see that little has changed, Qui-Gon Jinn," he says, his voice full of all the affection he has for this man. "You still exasperate me beyond measure."

Qui-Gon chuckles readily. "And you are still far too easy to exasperate, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

 _Touché_. They share a small grin, remembering old times. Obi-Wan's soul is lifted high in this moment. He has been reunited with his beloved master and friend—this is a miracle in the midst of horror. This is water in the desert. For a moment, Obi-Wan lets himself take in Qui-Gon's face. It's been so many years, and he forgot certain details, but now those details all stand perfect before him again with nothing changing at all. It makes him think back. It makes him wonder anew what he always has. "Did you know?" he prompts, wetting his lips nervously. There is a long silence and Qui-Gon waits for the rest of the question. "Did you know you were going to die?" Qui-Gon makes no reply, only lets his eyes question his old Padawan. "I've always had a feeling, looking back," Obi-Wan explains slowly. "Certain things you said just hours before it all happened…"

There is a long beat of contemplation. Then: "Yes. I knew." Even though Obi-Wan has spent years believing his private theory was correct, to hear it confirmed still astonishes and saddens him. Qui-Gon takes a long, serious moment to evaluate Obi-Wan. "Had I told you… what would you have done?" he asks, and at Obi-Wan's telling silent expression, Qui-Gon nods gently. "And that is why I did not tell you," he says heavily. "What the Force wills must come to fruition. Even when it is not what we want."

Sour, Obi-Wan clenches his jaw in response to the brief barrage of things that come across his mind. "I have a hard time agreeing with you," he says lowly, eyes searching the distance blindly. "After what I saw. What we went through. The _massacre_ …"

"Not everything is for us to understand," Qui-Gon says regretfully. "As painful as that may be." Attention drawn to his master again, Obi-Wan finds himself looking into eyes that are blazing with steadfast strength and encouragement. "Have faith, Obi-Wan. A new way is coming. And there are more than one who are chosen. I have seen them in visions. They will do great things." Breath catching as he understands the implication, Obi-Wan listens with stillness. "Young Luke," Qui-Gon says, then smiles ever so faintly, his expression almost bordering on proud. "Your daughter."

 _No. Not them too._ It's too much for Obi-Wan—his Master here again, speaking to him of all this. After Anakin, after the Jedi Order being wiped out… he turns his head away, coming up against a wall of negative emotions. "I cannot think of this right now," he manages, because the fears will come if he dwells on the path ahead. He already feels a protectiveness over Luke and his daughter that he wrestles to reconcile with his teachings.

Qui-Gon nods, his expression wise and temperate. "I think you are beginning to understand why the Jedi were so against attachment," he observes, but not without deep understanding and compassion. "It complicates everything."

Obi-Wan breathes out heavily, eyes on the desert once more. "It _changes_ everything."

A soft _hmm_. "So it does."

There is a long and thoughtful pause. "Will you help me?" Obi-Wan finally asks hopefully. "To train the children?"

The Jedi Master sends a jesting glance his way. "What else do I have to occupy my time with?" Obi-Wan shakes his head, grinning with exasperation and amusement alike. That is a yes then. Another wave of relief comes over him. So he is _not_ alone in the way he thought he was. As Sabé said, he will have what he needs as the days come. Smiling anew as he thinks of her, Obi-Wan's chest expands for all the feelings inside of it. Watching closely with interest, Qui-Gon's smile is knowing. "Tell me about her," he prompts. "In your own words. This is a story I have long wanted to know."

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon visit for the rest of the night, and by the time that Obi-Wan returns inside to find Sabé asleep with Luke nestled in her arms safely, the suns are beginning to rise. He'll rouse Sabé gently to begin another day, but this time, things feel different. He has found his feet again, he has found himself. He has remembered that even as the suns set, still they always must rise…

And he vows to guide his family toward that rising light until his last day.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ _Hey everyone! Firstly, I'm sorry about how long it took me to get this chapter out. Basically, 2020 is just awful. I've been juggling stress, depression, grief, deaths, trying to get my life/work figured out due to the pandemic's financial impact on me/my fam, doing essential things for my community—it's a lot. Obviously I've been putting first things first, and fanfic had to wait. I write because I love the escape, I enjoy the artistic/creative release and the way I can just melt into another world. But the past couple months my priorities were different, and other things needed my attention. I have missed the Star Wars universe though. And am glad this chapter finally came to me._

_I hope you enjoyed this update - please leave me your thoughts :) From now on I will be writing and posting without a schedule/without a predicted time frame on updates, definitely more slowly than quickly (I dread to think what other fuckery 2020 has in store for me to deal with) - but new installments of Obi-Wan and Sabé's Tatooine life will continue to come your way whenever I can get them to you! In the meantime: May The Force Be With You, be safe, look out for others, and be kind no matter what._


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